Seven Dozen Gems 



COMPILED BY 

J. P. THORNDYKE. 



HARTFORD, CONN.: 
Press ok The Case, Lock wood & lUtAiNAKD CojirAxv 

1887. 



pS(^o^'' 




CO]^TE]SrTS. 



Alone, 










1 


A Glance Behind the Curtain, 










40 


Antony and Cleopatra, . 










. 2 


A Poet's Death Song, . 










39 


A Respectable Lie, 










. 33 


A Woman's Conclusions, 










9 


Black Sheep, 










. 18 


Building Upon the Sand, 










74 


Cato on Immortality, 










31 


Cleopatra Dying, . 










. 3 


Conscience and Future Judgment 










72 


Cowardice, .... 










22 


Deliverance, .... 










24 


Enigma of Mercy, . 










30 


Few Happy Marriages, . 










66 


Fidelity of Woman, 










69 


Flower in the Crannied Wall, 










45 


Footsteps of the Angels, 










23 


Good in All, .... 










49 


Guard Thine Action, 










6 


Guilty or Not Guilty, . 










14 


Haunted Houses, . 










43 


He and She, .... 










19 


Hope for the Sorrowing, 










64 


How Wonderful is Man, 










59 


Humanity, .... 










46 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 



Hymn to Death 

Incompleteness, 

Intidelity, 

Life, 

Life's Essence, 

Little People, 

Love, 

Love, 

Love of Nature, 

Morituri Salutamus 

Nearer to Thee, 

New Tbanatopsis, 

Now, 

O, May 1 Join the 

Only a Dog, . 

Outward Bound, 

Peter McGuire, 

Polonius' Advice to 

Press Onward, 

Progress, 

Resignation 

Slander, . 

Slander, . 

Sonnet, . 

Sonnet, . 

Soulless Prayers, 

Thanatopsis, . 

The Bridal Veil, 

The Building of tl 

The Children, 

The Creed, . 

The Day is Done, 

The Darling AVee Shoe 

The Eternal One, . 

The Everlasting Memorial 



Choi 



His 



House, 



Invisibl 



Son 



62 

48 
20 
58 
10 
50 
47 
57 
81 
82 
44 
84 
54 
41 
73 
61 
28 
29 
70 
79 
4 
26 
27 
53 
56 
12 
83 
11 
21 
38 
76 
7 
77 
34 
13 



CONT 


ENTS 










The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, .... 35 


The Little Grave, .... 






. 17 


The New Church Doctrine, 










. 71 


The Old Whisperer, 










. 25 


The Release, . 










. 37 


The Song of Seventy, . 










. 55 


The Spirit Mother, 










. 42 


The Spirit of Nature, . 










. 67 


The Time Has Come, . 










. GO 


The Triumph of Reason, 










. 8 


The Vision of Immortality, 










. 80 


There is no Death, 










. 36 


Thought, 










. 32 


Thoughts From Festus, 










. 52 


Toby, .... 










. 75 


True Kinship, 










. 16 


Twice Born, . 










. 78 


Unnumbered Graves, 










. 63 


What I Once Thought, . 










. 68 


What Makes a Man, 










. 65 


What the Waves Said, . 










. 5 


When the Chickens Come Home, 








. 51 


Whistling in Heaven, . 










. 15 



1* 






. . Mayl live in pulses stirred to generosity 
la deeds of daring rectitude, in scorii 
Of miserable aims that end in self. 

Be to other souls JhQ cup of strength 
In S6»m6 great agony. . . . 
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, 
Be the sweet jjresence of a ^c'CfZ diffused." 



"Except a living person, there is nothing more 
wonderful than a book ; a message to us prom the 
so-called dead — from human souls we never saw, 
who lived, perhaps, thousands of miles away, and 

CENTURIES AGO. AnD YET THESE, IN THESE LITTLE 
SHEETS OF PAPER, SPEAK TO US, AROUSE US, TERRIFY US, 
SOOTHE US, TEACH US, AND OPEN THEIR HEARTS TO US 
AS TRIED AND TRUSTED SOUL COMPANIONS. " 



(1) 

E. A. POE. 

Prom childhood's hour I have not been 
As others were — I have not seen 
As others saw — I could not bring 
My passions from a common spring. 
From the same source I have not taken 
My sorrow; 1 could not awaken 
My heart to joy at the same tone; 
And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone. 
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn 
Of a most stormy life — was drawn 
From the torrent, or the fountain, 
From the red cM of the mountain, 
From the sun that 'round me roU'd 
In its autumn tint of gold — 
From the lightnings in the sky 
As it pass'd me flying by — 
From the thunder and the storm, 
And the cloud that took the form 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 



(When the rest of Heaven was blue) 
Of a demon in my view, 
From ev'ry depth of good and ill 
The mystery which binds me still. 



(2) 

.^ntjcrnrr and ©Xcop^atva. 

GEN. LYTLE. 

I am dying, Egypt, dying, 

Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast. 
And the dark Plutonian shadows 

Gather on the evening blast; 
Let thine arms, Queen, enfold me ! 

Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear; 
Listen to the great heart-secrets, 

Thou, and thou alone, must hear. 

Though my scarred and veteran legions 
Bear their eagles high no more, 

And my wrecked and scattered galleys 
Strew dark Actium's fatal shore; 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 

Thougli no glittering guards surround me, 
Prompt to do their master's will, 

I must perish like a Roman, 
Die the great Triumvir still. 

Let not Csesar's servile minions 

Mock the Lion thus laid low ; 
'Twas no foeman's arm that felled him — 

'Twas his own that struck the blow, — 
His, who, pillowed on thy bosom, 

Turned aside from glory's ray — 
His, who, drunk with thy caresses, 

Madly threw a world away. 

Should the base plebeian rabble 

Dare assail my name at Rome, 
Where my noble spouse, Octavia, 

Weeps within her widowed home, 
Seek her; say the gods bear witness — 

Altars, augurs, circling wings — 
That her blood, with mine commingled, 

Yet shall mount the throne of kings. 

And for thee, star-eyed Egyptian! 

Glorious sorceress of the Nile, 
Light the path to Stygian horrors 

With the splendors of thy smile. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Give the Caesar crowns and arches, 
Let his brow the laurel twine; 

I can scorn the Senate's triumphs, 
Triumphing in love like thine. 

I am dying, Egypt, dying; 

Hark ! the insulting foeman's cry. 
They are coming ! quick, my falchion! 

Let me front them ere I die. 
Ah ! no more amid the battle 

Shall my heart exulting swell — 
Isis and Orisis guard thee ! 

Cleopatra, Rome, farewell! 



(3) 

THOMAS S. COLLIER. 

Sinks the sun below the desert — 
Golden glows the shiggish Nile ; 

Purple flame crowns spring and temple, 
Lights up every ancient pile 



CLEOPATRA DYING. 

Where the old gods now are sleeping ; 

Isis, and Osiris great, 
Guard me, help me. give me courage 

Like a queen to meet my fate ! 

'' I am dying, Egypt, dying ! " 

Let the Caesar's army come — 
I will cheat him of his glory, 

Though beyond the Styx I roam, 
Shall he drag this beauty with him 

While the crowd his triumph sings ? 
No, no, never ! I will show him 

What lies in the blood of kings. 

Though he hold the golden scepter, 

Rale the Pharaoh's sunny land, 
Where old Nilus rolls resistless. 

Through the sweeps of silvery sand - 
He shall never say I met him 

Fawning, abject, like a slave — 
T will foil him, though to do it 

I must cross the Stygian wave. 

Oh, my hero, sleeping, sleeping — 
Shall I meet you on the shore 

Of Plutonian shadows ? Shall we 
In death meet and love once more ? 

2 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

See, I follow in your footsteps — 
Scorn the Caesar and his might ; 

For your love I will leap boldly 
Into realms of death and night. 

Down below the desert sinking, 

Fades Apollo's brilliant car ; 
And, from out the distant azure 

Breaks the bright gleam of a star ; 
Venus, queen of love and beauty, 

Welcomes me to death's embrace, 
Dying — free, proud, and triumphant, 

The last sovereign of my race. 

Dying ! dying ! I am coming. 

Oh, my hero, to your aims ; 
You will welcome me — I know it — 

Guard me from all i-ude alarms. 
Hark ! I hear the legions coming, 

Hear their cries of triumph swell, 
But, proud Caesar, dead I scorn you 

Egypt — Anthony — farewell ! 



RESIGNATION. 

(4) 

H. W. LONGFELLOW. 

There is no flock, however watched and tended, 

But one dead lamb is there ! 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 

But has one vacant chair ! 

The air is full of farewells to the dying, 

And mournings for the dead ; 
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 

Will not be comforted ! 

Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions 

Not from the ground arise, 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; 

Amid these earthly damps 
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers 

May be heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no death ! What seems so is transition ; 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the Ufe elysian. 

Whose portal we call death. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — 

But gone unto that school 
Wheie she no longer needs our poor protection, 

And truth itself doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, 

By guardian angels led, 
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution. 

She lives, whom we call dead. 

Day after day we tliink what she is doing 

In those bright realms of air ; 
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, 

Behold her grown more fair. 

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 

The bond which nature gives, 
Thinking that our remembrance though unspoken. 

May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold h_er ; 

For when with raptures wild 
In our embraces we again enfold her, 

She will not be a child ; — 



WHAT THE WAVES. SAID. 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, 

Clothed with celestial grace ; 
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 

Shall we behold her face. 

And though at times impetuous with emotion 

And anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, 

That cannot be at rest, — 

We will be patient and assuage the feeling 

We may not wholly stay ; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing. 

The grief that must have way. 



(5) 

BY El. LA A. BACON. 

I stood upon the rocks one summer day, 
And tried to fathom what the waves did say. 
At first 1 only caught the murmuriug swell 
Of ripples on the beach, yet loved I well 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Their soft, sea music, and in passive mood 
I waited, drinking in the grand soul food 
Which did refresh me with its soft refi'ain, 
Calming the wild unrest of heart and brain. 

At last I lost their gentle murmuring swell, 

But to my ear a voice like silver bell 

Rang clearly forth, " Look out on yonder beach, 

And then, away as far as eye can reach. 

See yonder wave, larger than all the rest, 

Dashing against the rocks its silver crest; 

And yet the smaller waves perform their share, 

And each its silver badge doth proudly wear, 

E'en baby's tiny hands are not afraid 

To dabble in the spray their foam hath made, 

But the great wave, the baby's soul alarms — 

He flies for safety to his mother's arms. 

But be not like the babe, afraid to stand 
And face the great wave as it touches land; 
Altho' it lift you with its rushing force, 
It shall not turn you from that straight, true course 
Which stretches out before 3^ou. 0, then, learn 
To tread the path with reverent feet, and spurn 
Not the wise counsels of those gentle guides 
Who aim to lead you safely o'er life's tides. 



WHAT THE WAVES SAID. 

Learn of that law which guides the rolling wave, 
Which chants its music in the Ocean caves, 
Which shapes the mosses and the coral reefs, 
And w^orketh out of human joys and griefs 
Some grand fruition if we could but see 
The power of Eternal Equity." 

The sweet voice paused,— the waves no longer spoke, 
Tho' at my feet their gentle ripples broke, 
"Eternal Equity," this echo said; 
If this be true Justice cannot be dead. 
Up, soul of mine, too long benumbed with pain. 
Let others' joys delight thee once again; 
For if thy feet may not tread Pleasure's way, 
And if the night seem long e'er cometh day, 
Let those grand voices sound within thy soul 
And calm its wild unrest with pure control, 
And may the blessed proof be shown to thee 
That justice lives, and works unceasingly. 

As surely as these tides do ebb and flow, 

So sure will Justice measure out for woe 

The equal balance of his joyful days, 

And fill the earth-worn soul with songs of praise. 

Then weary heart take hope; the way grows bright. 
The rosy dawn dispels the darkest night. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

And the deep shadows, like some frightful dream, 
Take wings and fly, before the sunny beam 
Of life's true purposes. Then up ! and do ! 
Behold the path that stretches to thy view: 
The way may lead thro' trial, fear, and pain. 
But thro' it a grand self-hood thou shalt gam — 
Sslf -sovereignty is the great future crown 
Which to hunjanity slopes gently down. 
When all shall wear it, enmity shall cease, 
And in each soul shall reign the law of peace. 



(O) 

(^Ucixd gixine Jiction. 

S. B. S. H. T. 

When you meet with one suspected 

Of some secret deed of shame, 
And for this by all rejected, 

As a thing of evil fame, 
Guard thine every look and action ; 

Speak no heartless word of blame; 
For the slanderer's vile detraction 

Yet may spoil thy goodly name. 



GUAED THINE ACTION. 

"When you meet a brow that's awing 

With its wrinkled lines of gloom, 
And a haughty step that's drawing 

To a solitary tomb, 
Guard thine action; some great sorrow 

Made that man a specter grim, 
And the sunset of to-morrow 

May have left thee like to him. 

When you meet with one pursuing 

Paths the lost have entered in, 
Working out his own undoing 

With his recklessness and sin, 
Think, if placed in his condition, 

Would a kind word be in vain ? 
Or a look of cold suspicion 

Win thee back to truth again ? 

There are spots that bear no flow^ers, — 

Not because the soil is bad, 
But that summer's gentle showers 

Never made their bosoms glad. 
Better have an act that's kindly. 

Treated sometimes with disdain, 
Than, by judging others blindly. 

Doom the innocent to pain. 



■*S'. A. Vance. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

(7) 

The day is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night 

As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and mist, 

And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me 
That my soul cannot resist. 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 

That is not akin to pain, 
And resembles sorrow only 

As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem. 
Some simple and heartfelt lay. 

That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not from the grand old masters. 
Not from the bards sublime. 

Whose distant footsteps echo 
'Jhrough the corridors of time. 



THE DAY IS DONE. 

For, like strains of martial music, 

Their mighty thoughts suggest 
Life's endless toil and endeavor; 

And to-night I long for rest. 

Read from some humbler poet, 

Whose songs gush from his heart, 

As showers from the clouds of summer, 
Or tears from the eyelids start; 

Who, through long days of labor, 

And nights devoid of ease, 
Still heard in his soul the music 

Of wonderful melodies. 

Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care, 
And comes like the benediction 

That follows after prayer. 

And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares that infest the day. 

Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 

— LorHj fellow. 



SEVEN DOZEN GENS. 
(8) 

3^Jxe ^vmmpTx of Reason. 

Yes, superstition's had its day, 
The clouds of doubt are flying, 
The age of reason holds her sway, 
And Orthodoxy 's dying. 

The poor old fellow, grim and gaunt, 
Tries hard to stand the pressure; 
'Tis useless trying, for he can't, 
So let him die at leisure. 

Foreordination, so they tell, 
With Calvin^ is no more; 
And infants' skulls no more in hell, 
Lie strewn about the floor. 

The Devil, too, has had his day. 

He vanished like a bubble: 

He's vanquished quite by reason's light, 

He'll give us no more trouble. 

His home is gone, that endless hell ; 
[To us 'tis not surprising] 
And more will go, as prophets tell, 
For reason's sun is rising. 



THE TRIUMPH OF REASON. 

As drowning men will catch at straws, 
Old Orthy grabs while sinking ; 
He retranslates God's holy laws, 
To stop the people thinking. 

As stars shine on the front of night, 
So shines this age of reason ; 
Its beams shine on a glowing light, 
That points the way to heaven. 

V/hat revelation do we need, 
But nature's open pages ? 
What need have we to always feed 
On stories of past ages ? 

Away with these ! let in the light 
That comes direct from heaven ; 
'Tis brought to us by Angels bright, 
To all 'tis freely given. 

— F. C. PoHer. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
(9) 

Ji WLommx^s (^oncXxx&ions. 

PHEBE GARY. 

I said, if I might go back again 

To the very hour and place of my birth; 

Might have my life whatever I chose, 
And live it in any part of the earth; 

Put perfect sunshine into my sky, 

Banish the shadow of sorrow and doubt; 

Have all my happiness multiplied, 
And all my sufferings stricken out; 

If I could have known in the years now gone. 
The best that a woman comes to know; 

Could have had whatever will make her blest, 
Or whatever she thinks will make her so; 

Have found the highest and purest bliss 
That the bridal-wreath and ring enclose; 

And gained the one out of all the world 
That my heart as well as my reason chose ; 

And if this had been, and I stood to-night 
By my children, lying asleep in their beds, 

And could count in my prayers, for a rosary, 
The shining row of their golden heads; 



A WOMAN S CONCLUSIONS. 

Yea! I said, if a miracle such as this 

Could be wrought for me, at my bidding, still 

I would choose to have my part as it is, 
And to let my future come as it will! 

I would not make the path I have trod 

More pleasant, or even more straight or wide; 

Nor change my course the breadth of a hair, 
This way or that way, to either side. 

My past is mine, and I take it all ; 

Its weakness — its folly, if you please; 
Nay, even my sins, if you come to that. 

May have been my helps, not hindrances ! 

If I saved my body from the flames 

Because that once I had burned my hand; 

Or kept myself from a greater sin 

By doing a less — you will understand; 

It was better I suffered a little pain, 

Better I sinned for a little time, 
If the smarting warned me back from death, 

And the sting of sin withheld from crime. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Who knows its strength, by trial, will know 
What strength must be set against a sin ; 

And how temptation is overcome, 

He has learned, who has felt its power within. 

And who knows how a life at the last may show ? 

Why, look at the moon from where we stand ! 
Opaque, uneven, you say; yet it shines, 

A luminous sphere, complete and grand ! 

So let my part stand, just as it stands, 
And let me now, as I may, grow old ; 

I am what I am, and my life for me 
Is the best — or it had not been. 1 hold. 



(10) 

RICHARD REALF. 



Fair are the flow-ers and the children, but their subtle 

suggestion is fairer ; 
Rare is the rose-burst at dawn, but the secret that 

clasps it is rarer ; 



LIFE S ESSENCE. 

Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that pre- 
cedes it is sweeter ; 

And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning out- 
mastered the meter. 

Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery guideth the 

growing ; 
Never a river that flows, but majesty scepters the 

flowing ; 
Never a Shakspeare that soared, but a stronger than 

he did unfold him : 
Nor ever a prophet foretells, but a mightier seer hath 

foretold him. 

Back of the canvas that throbs, the painter is hinted 
and hidden ; 

Into the statue tliat breathes, the soul of the sculptor is 
hidden ; 

Under the joy that is/e?^, lie the infinite issues of feel- 
ing ; 

Crowning the glory revealed is the glory that crowns 
the revealing. 

Great are the symbols of being, but that which is sym- 

boled is greater ; 
Vast the create and beheld, but vaster the inward 

creator ; 

3* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Back of the sound broods the silence^ hack of the gift 

stands the giving ; 
Back of the hand that receives^ thrill the sensitive 

nerves of receiving. 

Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is outdone by the 

doing ; 
The heart of the wooer is ivarm, but ivarmer the heart 

of the wooing ; 
And up from the pits where these shiver, and up 

from the heights where those shine, 
Twin voices and shadows move starward, and the 66'- 

sence of life is divine. 



( 11 ) 

BY ALICE GARY. 

We're married, they say, and you think you have 

won me, 
AVell, take this white veil from my head and look on 

me ; 
Here's matter to vex you, and matter to grieve you, 
Here's doubt to distrust you, and faith to believe 

you, 



THE BRIDAL VEIL. 

I am all as you see. common earth, common dew, 
Be wary and mould me to roses, not rue. 
Ah, shake out the filmy thing fold after fold. 
And see if you have me to keep and to hold, 
Look close on my heart — see the worst of its sin- 
ning — 

It is not yours to-day for the yesterday's winning. 
The Past is not mine — I am too proud to borrow, 
You must grow^ to new heights, if I love you to- 
morrow. 

"We're married ! I'm plighted to hold up your praises, 
As the turf at your feet does its handful of daisies ; 
That w^ay hes my honor, my pathway of pride ; 
But, mark you, if greener grass grow either side 
I shall know it, and keeping in body with you, 
Shall walk in my spirit my feet on the dew. 

We'er married ! Oh, pray that our love do not fail ! 
I have wings flattened down and hid under my veil ; 
They are subtle as light — you can never undo them. 
And swift in their flight, you can never pursue them, 
And spite of all clasping, and spite of all bands 
I can slip like a shadow^, a dream, from your hands. 

Nay, call me not cruel, and fear not to take me, 

I am yours for my life time, to be what you make me. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 



To^wear my white veil for a sign or a cover, 
As you shall be proven my lord, or my lover. 
A cover for peace that is dead, or a token 
Of bliss, that can never be written or spoken. 



(12) 

S. B. L. C. T. 

I do not like to hear him pray, 
On bended knee about an hour, 

For grace to spend aright the day, 
Who knows his neighbor has no flour. 

I'd rather see him go to mill 

And buy the luckless brother bread. 
And see his children eat their fill, 

And laugh beneath their himible shed. 

I do not like to hear him pray, 
"Let blessings on the widow be," 

Who never seeks her home to say — 
"If want o'ertakes you, come to me." 



SOULLESS PRAYERS. 

I hate the prayer so loud and long, 
That's offered for the orphan's weal, 

By him who sees him crushed by wrong, 
And only with the lips doth feel. 

I do not like to hear her pray, 

With jeweled ear and silken dress, 

Whose washerwoman toils all day, 
And then is asked to work for less. 

Such pious falsehoods I despise ! 

The folded hands, the face demure. 
Of those with sanctimonious eyes, 

Who steal the earnings of the poor. 

Those sainted faces that they wear, 
To church and for the public eye, 

Hide things that are not on the square, 
And wickedness done upon the sly. 

I do not like such soulless prayers ! 

If wrong, I hope to be forgiven ; 
Such prayers no angel upward bears — 

TheyWe lost a million miles from heaven. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

(13) 

S. B. M. F. B. F. 

Up, and away, like the dew of the morning-, 

That soars from the earth to its home in the sun ; 

So let me steal away, gently and lovingly, 
Only remembered by what I have done. 

My name and my place, and my tomb ail forgotten. 
The brief race of time well and patiently run ; 

So let me steal away, peacefully, silently, 
Only remembered by what I have done. 

Gladly away from this toil, would I hasten, 
Up to the crown that for me has been won, 

Unthought of by man in rewards or in praises, 
Only remembered by what I have done. 

Up, and away, like the odors of sunset, 

That sweeten the twilight as darkness comes on ; 

So be my life, — a thing felt, but not noticed, 
And I but remembered by what I have done. 

Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness. 
When the flowers that it came from are closed up 
and gone ; 



THE EVERLASTING MEMORIAL, 

So would I be to this world's weary dwellers, 
Only remembered by what I have done. 

Needs then the praise of the love-written record 
The name and the epitaph graved on the stone ? 

The things we have lived for, — let them be our story, 
We ourselves but remembered by what we have 
done. 

I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing 
(As its summer and autumn moved silently on) 

The bloom, and the fruit, and the seed in its season ; 
I shall still be remembered by what I have done. 

I need not be missed, if another succeed me 

To reap down those fields which in spring 1 have 
sown ; 
He who plowed and who sowed is not missed by the 
reaper ; 
He is only remembered by what he has done. 

Not myself] but the truth that in life 1 have spoken, 
Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown. 

Shall pass on to ages — all about me forgotten, 

Save the truths I have spoken, the things I have 
done. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

So let my living be, so be my dying. 

So let my name lie unblazoned, unknown ; 
Uhpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered, 
Yes, but remembered by ivhat I have done. 

— Bonar. 



(14) 

(j^ttiXt^ ox g:ot (fittittvj. 

She stood at the bar of justice, 

A creature wan and wild, 
In form too small for a woman, 

In features too old for a child, 
For a look so worn and pathetic 

Was stamped on her pale young face, 
It seemed long years of suffering 

Must have left that silent trace. 

•' Your name," said the judge, as he eyed her 

With kindly look yet keen, 
" Is Mary McGuire, if you please sir," 

" And your age ? " — "I am turned fifteen.' 
•' Well, Mary," and then from a paper 

He slowly and gravely read, 
• You are charged here — I'm sorry to say it - 

With stealing three loaves of bread." 



GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY. 

" You look not like an offender, 
And I hope that you can show 

The charge to be false. Now, tell me, 
Are you guilty of this, or no ? " 

A passionate burst of weeping- 
Was at first her sole reply, 

But she dried her eyes in a moment, 
And looked in the judge's eye. 

'^ I will tell you just how it was, sir. 

My father and mother are dead, 
And my little brother and sisters 

Were hungry and asked me for bread. 
At first I earned it for them 

By working hard all day, 
But somehow times were bad, sir. 

And the work all fell away. 

'' I could get no more employment ; 

The weather was bitter cold, 
The young ones cried and shivered — 

(Little Johnny's but four j^ears old ;) - 
So, what was I to do, sir ? 

I am guilty, but do not condemn, 
I took — oh, was it siealing ? — 

The bread to give to them." 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Every man in the court-room — 

Gray-beard and tlioughtless youth — 
Knew, as he looked upon her, 

That the prisoner spake the truth, 
Out from their pockets came kerchiefs, 

Out from their eyes sprung tears, 
And out from old faded wallets 

Treasures hoarded for years. 

The judge's face was a study — 

The strangest you ever saw, 
As he cleared his throat and murmured 

Something about the law. 
For one so learned in such matters, 

So wise in dealing with men, 
He seemed, on a simple question. 

Sorely puzzled just then. 

But no one blamed him or wondered. 

When at last these words they heard 
The sentence of this young prisoner 

Is, for the present, deferred." 
And no one blamed him or wondered 

When he went to her and smiled, 
And tenderly led from the court-room, 

Himself, the "guilty" child. 



WHISTLING IN HEAVEN. 

(15) 

WllxistXxtxjg in abi:axycn. 

S. B. W. R. T. 

You're surprised that I should say so? 

Just wait till the reason IVe given 
Why I say I sha'nt care for the music, 

Unless there is whistling in heaven ; 
Then you'll think it no very great wonder, 

Nor so strange, nor so bold a conceit, 
That unless there's a boy there a-whistling, 

Its music will not be complete. 

It was late in the autumn of '49; 

We had come from our far Eastern home 
Just in season to build us a cabin, 

Ere the cold of the winter should come; 
And we lived all the while in our wagon 

That husband was clearing the place 
Where the house was to stand; and the clearini 

And building it took many days. 

So that our heads were scarce sheltered 

Under its roof, when our store 
Of provisions was almost exhausted, 

And husband must journey for more; 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

And the nearest place where he could get them 

Was yet such a distance away, 
That it forced him from home to be absent 

At least a whole night and a day. 

You see we'd but two or three neighbors, 

And the nearest was more than a mile, 
And we hadn't found time yet to know them, 

For we had been busy the while; 
And the man who had helped at the raising, 

Just stayed till the job was well done; 
And as soon as his money was paid him 

Had shouldered his axe and had gone. 

Well, husband just kissed me and started. 

I could scarcely suppress a deep groan 
At the thought of remaining witli baby 

So long in the house all alone; 
For, my dear, I was childish and timid, 

And braver ones might well have feared, 
For the wild wolf was often heard howling, 

And savages sometimes appeared. 

But I smothered my grief and ray terror 

Till husband was off on his ride, 
And then in my arms I took Josey, 

And all the day long sat and cried, 



WHISTLING IN HEAVEN. 

As I thought of the long dreary hours 
When the darkness of night should fall, 

And I was so utterly helpless, 
With no one in reach of my call ! 

And when the night came with its terrors, 

To hide ev'ry ray of light, 
I hung up a quilt by the window, 

And almost dead with affright, 
I kneeled by the side of the cradle. 

Scarce daring to draw a full breath, 
Lest the baby should wake, and its crying 

Should bring us a horrible death. 

There I knelt until late in the evening. 

And scarcely an inch had I stirred, 
When suddenly, far in the distance, 

A sound of whistling I heard. 
I started up, dreadfully frightened. 

For fear 'twas an Indian's call; 
And then very soon I remembered 

The red man ne'er whistles at all. 

And when I was sure 'twas a white man, 

I thought, were he coming for ill, 

He'd surely approach with more caution — 

Would come without warning and still. 
4* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Then the sounds coming nearer and nearer, 
Took the form of a tune, light and gay, 

And I knew I needn't fear evil 

From one who could whistle that way. 

Very soon I heard footsteps approaching, 

Then came a peculiar dull thump, 
As if some one was heavily striking 

An axe in the top of a stump; 
And then, in another brief moment. 

There came a light tap on the door, 
When quickly I undid the fast'nings, 

And in stepped a boy, and before 

There was either a question or answer, 

Or either had time to speak, 
I just threw my glad arms around him. 

And gave him a kiss on the cheek. 
Then I started back, scared at my boldness, 

But he only smiled at my fright, 
As he said, '' I'm your neighbor's boy, Elick, 

Come to tarry with you through the night. 

" We saw your husband go eastward, 

And made up our minds where he'd gone, 

And I said to the rest of our people, 
' That woman is there all alone, 



WHISTLING IN HEAVEN. 

And 1 venture she's awfully lonesome, 
And though she may have no great fear, 

I think she would feel a bit safer 
If only a boy were but near.' 

" So taking my axe on my shoulder, 

For fear that a savage might stray 
Across my path, and need scalping, 

1 started right down this way; 
And coming in sight of the cabin, 

And thinking to save you alarm, 
I whistled a tune, just to show you 

I didn't intend any harm. 

''And so here I am, at your service; 

But if you don't want me to stay, 
Why, all you need do is to say so, 

And should'ring my axe, I'll away." 
I dropped in a chair and near fainted, 

Just at thought of his leaving me then, 
And his eyes gave a knowing bright twinkle 

As he said, "I guess I'll remain." 

And then I just sat there and told him 
How terribly frightened I'd been, 

How his face was to me the most welcome 
Of any I had ever seen; 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

And then 1 lay down with the baby, 
And slept all the blessed night through, 

For I felt I was safe from all danger 
Near so brave a young fellow and true. 

So now, my dear friend, do you wonder. 

Since such a good reason I've given, 
Why I say I sha'n't care for the music 

Unless there is whistling in heaven ? 
Yes, often I've said so m earnest, 

And now what I've said I repeat, 
That unless there's a boy there a-whistling, 

Its music will not be complete. 



(10) 

Is true kinship a matter of birthj 

A component part of muscle and bone ? 

Or is it above the bondage of earthy 

A spirit untrammeled, a kingdom alone ? 

May we not live in the presence for years 
Of those whose bodies are close to our own, 

Who still are as strange to our feelings and fears 
As if we were living alone ? 



TRUE KINSHIP. 

Foreign they are to all in our hearts; 

Foreign to want and to need; 
Alieii to life, in all of its parts; 

Alien to ihought and to deed. 

Like a breath of cold, wintry air, 

They touch us with tension and pain, 

They freeze the soul's /?0M;Ve/5 there, 
They soil our pure motives with stain. 

And others may come, strangers, unknown. 
That sway us with unspoken grace, 

Whose spirit and gesture, greeting and tone 
Reveal the real kinship of race. 

From the spring on the height streamlets divide. 
Some to the east and some to the west, 

Whilst all on their missions peacefully glide, 
As each in itself deemeth best. 

There's a kinship) that passeth the earth, 
That soareth above the portals of clay, 

The soul centred kinship of worth, 

That planteth its feet in one chosen luay. 

— Anon. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

(17) 

"It's only a little grave," they said, 

'^ Only just a child that's dead "; 
And so they carelessly turned away 

From the mound the spade has made that day. 
Ah ! they did not know how deep a shade 

That little grave in our home had made. 

I know the coffin was narrow and small, 

One yard would have served for an ample pall: 

And one man in his arms could have borne away 
The rosebud and its freight of clay. 

But I know that darling hopes were hid 
Beneath that little coffin lid. 

I knew that a mother had stood that day 
V'/ith folded hands by that form of clay; 

I know that burning tears were hid, 

' Neath the drooping lash and aching lid; 

And I knew her lip, and cheek, and brow. 
Were almost as white as her baby's now. 

T knew that some things were hid away, 
The crimson frock and wrappings gay, 



BLACK SHEEP. 

The little sock and half- worn shoe, 

The cap with its plumes and tassels blue; 

An empty crib with its covers spread, 
As white as the face of the sinless dead. 

' Tis a little grave, but 0, beware ! 

For w^orld-wide hopes are buried there; 
And ye perhaps, in coming years, 

May see like her, through blinding tears, 
How much of light, how much of joy, 

Is buried with an only boy ! 



(18) 

CARRIE E. S. TWING. 



Out in the pasture cool and green, 
Where the murmuring brook is seen. 

Hurrying its way in its noisy glee 

To mingle its waves with the dark blue sea, 

I sit and watch, while the shadows creep, 
The quiet ways of a flock of sheep. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

I watcli their ways as they slowly pass, 
Stopping to pluck at the tender grass, 

And my thoughts go back to the fields once trod, 
By him who is styled the "Lamb of God," 

To the sweet words uttered and dear commands 
'Mongst which was this one, " Feed my lambs." 

But as I sit in the waning light 

1 notice the sheep are not all white, 
There are tivo black sheep with their white wooled 
brothers, 
But they mix with the flock and eat grass with the 
others, 
And as I glance from left to right 

I wonder if sheep know Uack from white. 

But list ! there comes from among the sheep 
A voice that sounds both low and sweet, 

And it says, we sheep can ne'er decide, 
For the Uackest sheep are like wJtite inside. 

So we go by this, "judge not thy brother," 
And dwell in peace and love each other. 

In the pastures green of tliis world of ours 
There are many thistles and many flowers, 

And the time ne'er'll come 'till we sleep our last sleep. 
When a flock will be found without its black sheep. 



"HE AND SHE. 

I've wondered sometimes if in that last day 

When the good and the bad shall go their way, 

We'll not be astonished and doubt our sight, 
To see our black sheep turn out white. 



(19) 



'' ge aixxt mizJ' 

S. B. E. S. B, 



" She is dead! " they said to him ; '•' conae away ; 
Kiss her and leave her, — thy love is clay ! " 

They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair ; 
On her forehead of stone they laid it fair; 

Over her eyes, that gazed too much, 
They drew the lids with gentle touch; 

With a tender touch they closed up well 
The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell; 

About her brows and beautiful face 
They tied her veil and her marriage lace, 

And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes 
Which were the wiiitest no eye could choose — 

5 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

And over her bosom they crossed her hands. 
"Come away !" they said; "God imderstands." 

And there was silence, and nothing there 
But silence, and scents of eglantere, 

And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary; 

And they said, "As a lady should lie, lies she." 

And they held their breath till they left the room, 
With a shudder, to glance at its stillness and gloom. 

But he who loved her too well to dread 
The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead, — 

He lit his lamp, and took the key 

And turned it — alone again — he and she. 

He and she ; but she would not speak, 

Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek. 

He and she ; yet she would not smile. 

Though he called her the name she loved erewhile. 

He and she ; still she did not move 
To any one passionate whisper of love. 

Then he said: "Cold lips and breasts without breath, 
Is there no voice, no language of death ? 



"HE AND SHE. 

<' Dumb to the ear and still to the sense, 
But to heart and to soul distinct, intense ? 

^' See now; I will listen with soul, not ear; 
What was the secret of dying, dear ? 

" Was it the infinite wonder of all 
That you ever could let life's flower fall ? 

" Or was it a greater marvel to feel 
The perfect calm o'er the agony steal ? 

^' Was the miracle greater to find how deep 
Beyond all dreams sank downward that sleep ? 

^' Did life roll back its records dear, 

And show, as they say it does, past things clear ? 

*' And was it the innermost heart of the bliss 
To find out so, what a wisdom love is ? 

''Oh! perfect dead ! Oh ! dead most dear, 
I hold the breath of my soul to hear ! 

^' I listen as deep as to horrible hell, 

As high as to heaven, and you do not tell. 

" There must be pleasure in dying, sweet. 
To make you so placid from head to feet ! 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

" I would tell you, darling, if I were dead, 

And 'twere your hot tears upon my brow shed, — 

" I would say, though the Angel of Death had laid 
His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid. 

" You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes, 
Which of all deaths was the chief est surprise, 

"The very strangest and suddenest thing 
Of all the surprises that dying must bring." 

Ah, foolish world ! Oh, most kind dead ! 
Though he told me, who will believe it was said ? 

Who will believe that he heard her say, 

With the sweet, soft voice, in the dear old way: 

'' The utmost wonder is this, — / hear 

And see you, and love you, and kiss you, dear ; 

" And am your angel, who was your bride, 
And knoiij that, though dead, 1 have never died.'' 

— Arnold. 



TO ONE WHO SAID '• HE's ONLY AN INFIDEL." 

(20) 

g0 jone xv\xo sairX— '' gc's ortlir nn ^nf idjeX T' 

S. B. C. F. A. 

An infidel ! how easy said, 

But wherefore comes the name ? 
What is an infidel ? I ask, 

And is it cause for shame ? 
Is it to take for truth and rii^ht 

What reason has weighed well, 
To prove all things hold fast the good ? 

Then, am 1 infidel. 

Is it to trust with fearlessness 

The God within the soul ? 
Heeding the voice that speaks therein, 

Spurning all false control ? 
Trusting to inspiration past. 

To inspiration now ? 
Selecting wheat from out the chaff, 

Where'er it comes, or how ? 

Believing Heaven oft fills the soul, 
With promptings pure and high ? 

If this, all this, be infidel, 
Then infidel am I. 

5* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Unflinchingly I face the scorn, 

Freely accept the shame, 
For if an infidel mean this, 

I glory in the name. 

With angel breathings round me oft, 

With hope most high to cheer. 
With aspirations after truth, 

I cannot stoop to fear; 
Tho' oft I meet with those I deem 

Fast bound in error's thrall, 
I pray that charity be mine, 

For we are erring all. 

With love to God and love to man, 

To justice, truth, and right, 
Heaven grant I ne'er be infidel 

To past or present light ; 
To creed-bound dogmas, false, tho' old, 

I've bid a last adieu, 
Your fetters ne'er can bind my soul, 

I'm infidel to you. 

If only in the angels' sight 

] do my duty well. 
To falsehood, malice, hate, and fear, 

I shall be infidel. 



THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE. 

With nature singing to my soul, 

Around, below, above, 
1 never can he infidel 

To hvnor, truth, and Jove. 



(21) 

gixe ^atxXxltit0 of tixe gloxtsje. 

I have a wondrous house to build, 

A dwelling humble, yet divine ; 
A lowly cottage to be filled 

With all the treasures of the mine. 
How shall I build it strong and fair, 

This noble house, this lodging rare, 
So small and modest, yet so great ? 

How shall I fill its chambers bare 
With use, with ornaments, with state ? 

Nature hath given the stone and clay 
'Tis I must fashion them aright — 

'Tis 1 must mould them day by day, 
And make my labor my delight. 

This cot, this palace, this fair home. 
This pleasure-house, this holy dome, 

Must be in all proportions fit, 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

That heavenly messengers may come 

To lodge with him who tenants it. 
No fairy bower this house must be. 

To totter at each gale that starts, 
But of substantial masonry, 

Symmetrical in all its parts ; 
Fit, in its strength, to stand sublime 

To seventy years of mortal's time, 
Defiant of the storm and rain, 

And well attempered to the clime. 
In every cranny, nook, and pane 

I'll build it so that if the blast 
Around it whistle loud and long, 

The tempest, when its rage has passed, 
Shall leave its rafters doubly strong. 

I'll build it so that travelers by 
Shall view it with admiring eye, 

For its commodiousness and grace ; 
Firm on the ground, straight to the sky, 

A meek, but goodly dwelling-place. 
Thus noble in its outward form, 

Within I'll build it clean and white — 
Not cheerless cold, but happy, warm, 

And ever open to the light. 
No tortuous passages or stair, 

No chambers foul or dungeon lair, 



COWARDICE. 

No gloomy attic shall be there, 

But wide apartments, ordered fair, 
And redolent of purity. 

Such is the house that 1 must build, 
This is the cottage, this the dome, 

And this the palace treasure-filled 
For an immortal's earthly home. 

Oh, noble work of toil and care ! 
Oh, task most difficult and rare ! 

Oh, simple, but most arduous plan ! 
To raise a dwelling-place so fair, 

The sanctuary of a man !" 



(22) 

S. B. F. J. S. T. 



The veriest coward upon earth 

Is he who/e«r.s the world\s ojnnion ; 

Who acts with reference to its will, 
His conscience siuayed by its dominion. 

Mind is 7iot worth 2. feather's weight 

That must with other minds be measured. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Self must direct, and se^/" control, 

And the account in heaven be treasured. 
Fear never sways a manly soul, 

For honest hearts 'twas ne'er intended; 
They, only they, have cause to fear 

Whose motives have themselves offended. 
What will my neighhors say, if I 

Should this attempt, or that, or t'other ? 
A neighbor is most sure a foe 

If he prove not a heljnng brother. 
That mail is brave ivho braves the world 

When o'er life's sea his barque he steereth, 
Who keeps the guiding star in view, 

A conscience clear, which never veereth. 

— Anon. 



(23) 
g0jCrt5tepf5 0f ^tt0eXs. 

LONGFELLOW. 

When the hours of Day are numbered, 
And the voices of the Night 

Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 
To a holy, calm delight ; 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
Dance upon the parlor wall ; 

Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door ; 
The iDeloved, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more ; 

He, the young and strong, who cherished 
Noble longings for the strife, 

By the road-side fell and perished. 
Weary with the march of hfe ! 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
Who the cross of suffering bore, 

Folded their pale hands so meekly, 
Spake with us on earth no more ! 

And with them the Being Beauteous, 
Who unto my youth was given, 

More than all things else to love me, 
And is now a saint in heaven. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine, 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

And she sits and gazes at me 

With those deep and tender eyes, 

Ijike the stars, so still and saint-like. 
Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer. 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
Breathing from her hps of air. 

0, though oft depressed and lonely, 
All my fears are laid aside, 

If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died ! 



DELIVERANCE. 

(124) 

geXitrjeicancc. 

Joy ! all joy ! my chains are broken, 

Cant and bigotry are fled, 
Words of reason I've heard spoken, 

Which have filled my mind instead. 
Farewell now to supposition, 

Farewell now to creeds and sects, 
Farewell baseless superstition, 

Reason's light my path directs. 

Once I feared a God offended, 

Once 1 dreaded fire of hell, 
Now such childish fears are ended, 

Now I've shaken off the spell. 
Then I thought my best employment 

Was in constant praise and prayer, 
Now I find that pure enjoyment 

Is this world's best gift to share. 

Priests and clergy, you who tell us 
We are lost without your aid. 

Preach aloud so stern and zealous 
Man was for damnation made, 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Say, why should your God of Heaven 

Doom a man to endless pain, 
Blast the life Himself hath given, 

Making his creation vain ? 

Unbelieving, you would damn him, 

Send him to the lowest hell, 
While the threats with which you cram him. 

Damp his life on earth as well. 
Quit such doctrines, let them [)ei-ish, 

We would teach a better creed, 
Love to all mankind we cherish, 

Helping all in time of need. 

We prefer to think that Keason 

Is a truer guard and guide. 
And in every time and season, 

With its light we're satisfied. 
Soon may all its dictates follow 

(This must be the wiser plan, ) 
Scorning doctrines false and hollow, 

Live a life befitting Man. 

— PJiilos. 



THE OLD WHISFERER. 
(25) 

3;ixc ODIxl lSlTxl5pevcv\ 

The foul-mouthed whisperer told a tale 
Which made the face of honor pale. 
At once with zeal that made them dizzy 
Were rumor s swiftest tongue-pads busy. 
Hither and thither hurrying fast, 
With mouths aglow and eyes aghast ; 
The freshest listeners hotly seeking, 
On every tongue to utterance reeking — 
^' Well ! who would think it ! can it be ! 
Was ever vilban smooth as he ? '' 
And busily worked the fiendish thirst 
Of those who love to think the worst. 
By such self consciousness they knew 
The slimy story mu.^f be true. 

How sad that stirs of quick dehght 
Should blind the heavenly sense of right 
In any soul, and put the sway 
Of loving kindness quite away. 
When scandal blows her trumpet loud 
Till answering furies round her crowd, 
And bids her gibberuig demons dim 
A shining name and make it swam 



i=iKVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

In slander's spilth until they drown 
The light of stainless honor's crown, 
How many tremble through and through, 
Lest scandal's story prove untrue. 
They love to feed the fattening lie, 
For, if it fail, their pleasures die. 

Oh ! slander's crew for victim's raving, 
And honor's sweetest life-blood craving, 
Fear every tale and hint they try 
May soon become to every eye 
An undisguised and baffled lie. 
Before the radiant shield of truth 
The shriveling demons howl and whine 
To see a name escape their fangs » 
And far above their malice shine. 



S(rap Book. 



(3«) 

'Twas but a breath — 
And yet a woman's fair fame wilted, 
And friends, once fond, grew cold and stilted ; 
And life was worse than death. 



SLANDEK. 

One venomed word, 
That struck its coward, poisoned blow 
In craven whispers, hushed and low, 

And yet the wide w^orld heard. 

'Twas but one whispered — one 
That muttered low, for very sha7n€, 
That thing the slanderer dare not name, 

And yet its work w^as done. 

A hint so light, 
And yet so mighty in its power, 
A human soul, in one short hour, 

Lies crushed beneath its blight. 



(27) 

This is her grave, the sexton said, 
As he knelt and bowed his withered head — 
And he pushed back the flowers which overgrew 
The mound which covered the friend I knew. 

She, sir, was murdered I No ! not by a man ! 
But by seeming friends who tried to scan 
In her innocent actions, thoughtless and free, 
A something in which they, guilt could see. 
6* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Failing in this, they began to — talk, 
Wink, and insinuate where'er she'd walk, 
And say, '''tis strange!" and, "one so winning, 
To be so sought after, must be sinning." 

Thus the gossip gossiped — 'till it reached her ears, 
But none would own as she asked through her tears 
To point to a single act in her life 
That was not in accord with a blameless life. 

They "had heard," they said, but they didn't know 

where, 
And exactly what they didn't care, 
To be catechised in by tlie "likes of her," 
Tho' they didn't believe she'd exactly err. 

The poison worked — she drooped and died, 
And some of the same "friends" came here and 
cried. 

But I thought as I saw some try to weep 
That the Recording Angel in his book doth keep 
The names and the sins of those who pander 
To heaven's arch enemy — and that is slander. 

— Atlanta Constitution. 



PETER M GUIRE; OR NATURE AND GRACE. 

(28) 

l^ctcv pCcCfSitiv^c ; ox gjatxtxx antX ^Xcicc. 

LIZZIE DOTEN. 

It has always been thought a most critical case 
When a man was possessed of more Nature than 

Grace. 
For theology teaches that man, from the first, 
Was a sinner by nature, and justly accurst ; 
And " Salvation by Grace " was the wonderful plan 
Which God had invented, to save erring man : 
'Twas the only atonement he knew how to make 
To annul tlie effects of his own sad mistake. 

Now, tliis was the doctrine of good Parson Brown, 
Who preached, not long since, in a small country- 
town. 
He was zealous and earnest and could so excel 
In describing the tortures of sinners in hell, 
That a famous revival commenced in the place, 
And hundred of souls found "Salvation by Grace " ; 
But he felt that lie had not attained his desire 
Till he had converted one Peter McGuire. 

This man was a blacksmith, frank, fearless, and bold, 
With great brawny sinews hke Vulcan of old : 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

He had little respect for wliat ministers preach, 
And sometimes was very profane in his speech: 
His opinions weie founded in clear common sense; 
And he spoke as he thought, though he oft gave 

offense : 
But however wanting, in whole or in part, 
Ha was sound and all right when you came to his 

heart. 

One day the good parson, with pious intent, 

To the smithy of Peter most hopefully went; 

And there, while the hammer indnstriously swung, 

He preached and he prayed, and exhorted, and sang, 

And warned, and entreated poor Peter to fly 

From the pit of destruction before he should die, 

And to wash himself clean from the world's sinful 

strife. 
In the blood of the Lamb and the River of Life. 

Well, and what would you now be inclined to expect 

Was the probable issue and likely effect ? 

Why, he swore "like a pirate," and (what do you 

think ?) 
From a little black bottle took something to drink ! 
And he said "I'll not mention tlie blood of the 

Lamb ; 
But as for that river, it aren't worth a " 



PETER MGUIRE; OK NATURE AND GRACE. 

Then pausing, as if to restrain his rude force, 
He quietly added, " a inill-dam, of coursey 

Quick out of the smithy the minister fled 

As if a big bombshell had burst near his head ; 

And, as he continued to haste on his way, 

He was too much excited to sing or to pray: 

But he thought how tliat some were elected by grace 

As heirs of His kingdom — made sure of their place ; 

While others are doomed to the pains of hell-fire ; 

And, if e'er there was one such, 'twas Peter McGuire 

That night, when the Storm-King was riding on high. 
And the red shafts of lightning gleamed bright 

through the sky. 
The church of the village, 'Hhe temple of God," 
Was struck for the want of a good lightning-rod ; 
And, swiftly descending, the element dire 
Set the minister's house, close beside it, on fire, 
While he peacefully slumbered, with never a fear 
Of the terrible work of destruction so near. 

There were Mary and Hannah, and Tommy and Joe, 
All sweetly asleep in the bedroom below ; 
While their father was near, and their mother at rest, 
(Like the wife of John Rogers, with " one at the 
breast " : ) 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMFi. 

Bat Alice, the oldest, a gentle young dove. 
Was asleep all alone in the room jnst above ; 
And, when the wild cTy of the rescuer came, 
She only was left to the pitiless flame. 

The fond mother counted her treasures of k)ve ; 
When lo ! one was missing ! "O Father ahove ! " — 
How madly she shrieked in her agony wild ! — 
" My Alice ! my Alice ! — oh ! save my dear child ! " 
Then down on his knees fell the parson and prayed 
That the terrible wrnth of the Lord might be stayed. 
Said Peter McGruire, '' Prayer is good in its place ; 
But then it don't suit this particular case." 

He turned down the sleeves of his red flannel shirt 
To shield his great arms, all besmutted with dirt ; 
Then into the billows of smoke and of fire, 
Not pausing an instant, dashed Peter McGuire. 
Oh, that terrible moment of anxious suspense ! 
How breathless their watching ! their fear how 

intense ! 
And then their great joy, which was freely expressed. 
When Peter appeai'ed with the child on his breast ! 

A shout rent the air when the darling he laid 

In the arms of her mother, so pale and dismayed ; 



POLONIUS'S ADVICE TO HIS SON. 

And as Alice looked up, and most gratefully smiled, 
He bowed down his head and he wept like a child. 
Oh ! those tears of brave manhood that rained o'er 

his face 
Showed the true (irace of Nature, and the Nature of 

Grace : 
'Twas a manifest token, a visible sign, 
Of the indwelling hfe of the Spirit Divine. 

Consider such natures, and then, if you can, 
Preach of "total depravity " innate in man. 
Talk of blasphemy ! — why, 'tis profanity wild 
To say that the father thus cursed his own child. 
Go learn of the stars and the dew-spangled sod 
That all things rejoice in the ijooilncss of God ; 
That each thing created is good in its place, 
And Nature is but the expression of Grace. 



(29) 

3?jolouiu5's ^xUvlcc to \\\s J>on. 

SHAKESPEARE. 

Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel; 

But do not (hill tliy palm with entertainment 

Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware 

Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, 

Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; 

Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 

But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy; 

For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 

Neither a borrower nor a lender be: 

For loan oft loses both itself and friend; 

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 

This above all, — to thine own self he true ; 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then he false to ani/ one. 



(SO) 

FRANK FELT. 

Amen ! hallelujah ! forever 

The Lord in his righteousness reigns ! 
The chosen are saved, and the many 

Are lost as his goodness ordains. 



THE ENIGMA OF MERCY. 

The almighty boss won the battle, 

Old Satan's put under his feet, 
And smoke-clouds of anguish arising 

Fill heaven with aroma sweet. 

There stands a big bellows in heaven, 

Right back of Jehovah's throne. 
With air-pipes strung from its nozzle 

Way down to the fiery zone; 
And sometimes an angel gets lazy, 

And rusts for the want of use, 
His bright wings all flopping and twisted, 

His harp-strings all dangling and loose; 
Then Michael says: " Here, you dull loafer ! 

Just jump these 'ere bellows a spell, 
And warm up your poor old mother, 

A -shivering away down in hell." 

There are those in this heavenly kingdom 

With friends in the torment below; 
But tlic cords that had bound them when mortal 

Are broke, and the burden of w^oe 
That sympathy bears for another 

Rests never upon them again, 
For conscience is freed from the kindness 

That made them do good nnto men. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

A sweet little angelic cherub, 

All rosy and smiling and bright, 
With joy written over his forehead 

In the glow of eternity's light, 
Conies up from the beautiful river 

With ecstasy sweet and unshammed, 
So send a blast down on a sister 

Who went to a dance and was damned. 

A father and mother together 

Come up in ineffable joy, 
To force down a whiff of pure justice 

For the flames round a dear little boy, 
Who laughed by mistake when the deacon 

Broke down with a cough in his prayer, 
And died with the crime unforgiven, 

To go down to hell and despair. 

"All washed in the blood and made whiter 

Than snow," and with purity crowned, 
A murderer swung from the gallows 

Comes joyfully walking around; 
And creak goes the powerful engine. 

And downward the rich stream is driven, 
To blow up the coals that are roasting 

The wife that he killed — unforgiven. 



THE ENIGMA OF MERCY. 

A pious, angelical deacon, 

Who once distilled whisky on earth, 
And sold it around to his neighbors 

For thrice what it really was worth. 
Takes hold of the handle and turns it 

On one who from godhness fell 
By drinking his orthodox whisky, 

To burn in an ortliodox hell. 

O heautifid rest for the iveary ! 

joy that shall be to all men! 
heautifid scheme of salvation^ 

That saves ahout one out of ten f 
Sweet message of love from the ages ! 

Sweet story that ever is new ! 
" Believe, or be damned " to perdition! 

1 believe ! Vll he damned if I do! 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
CM) 

OTirto on Uxc gmmcrvHaXiti} erf the ^oxiX. 

ADDISON. 

It must be so ; — Plato, thou reason'st well, 

Else whence this pleasing liope, this fond desire. 

This longing after immortality ? 

Or whence this secret dread and inward horror 

Of falling into nought ? Wh}^ shrinks the soul 

Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 

— 'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us, 

'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter. 

And intimates Eternity to man. 

Eternity ! — thou pleasing — dreadful thought ! 

Through what variety of untried being — 

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! 

The soul, secured in her existence, smiles 

At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. . 

The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 

Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years; 

But thou slialt flourish in immortal youth, 

Unhurt amid the war of elements, 

The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds. 



THOUGHT. 

(32) 

C. p. CRANCH. 

Thought is deeper tlian all speech, 
Feeling deeper than all thought ; 

Souls to souls can never teach 

What unto themselves was taught. 

We are spirits clad in veils ; 

Man by man was never seen ; 
All our deep communing fails 

To remove the shadowy screen. 

Heart to heart was never known ; 

Mind with mind did never meet ; 
We are columns left alone 

Of a temple once complete. 

Like the stars that gem the sky, 
Far apart though seeming near, 

In our light we scattered lie ; 
All is thus but starlight here. 

What is social company 

But the babbling summer stream ? 
What our wise philosophy 

But the glancing of a dream ? 

7* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Only when the sun of love 

Melts the scattered stars of thought, 
Only wlien we live above 

What the diineyetl woi'ld hath taught; 

Only wlien our souls are fed 

By the fount which gave them birth, 
And by inspiration led 

Which they never drew from earth ; 

We, like parted drops of rain. 
Swelling till they meet and run, 

Shall be all absorbed again, 
MeltiniT, flowino- into one. 



(33) 

LIZZIE DOTEN. 

<'A respectable lie, sir ! Pray wliat do you mean ? 
Why the term in itself is Si plain contradiction. 
A lie is a lie, and deserves no respect, 
But merciless judgment, and speedy conviction. 
It springs from corruption, is servile and mean, 
An evil conception, a coward's invention, 



A RESPECTABLE LTE. 

And whether direct, or but simply itiiplied, 

Has naught but deceit for its end and intention." 

All, yes ! very well ! So good mornls would teach ; 

But/acA9 are the most stubborn things in existence, 

And they tend to show that great lies win respect, 

And hold their position with wondrous persistence. 

The small lies, the ivliite lies, the Viesfeehlg told, 

The world will condemn both in spirit and letter ; 

But the great l)loated lies will be held in respect, 

And the larger and older a lie is, the better. 

A respectable lie, from a popular man. 

On B. popular theme, never taxes endurance; 

And the pure golden coin of wwpopular truth, 

Is often refused for the brass of assurance. 

You may dare all the laws of the land to defy. 

And bare to the truth the most shameless relation, 

But never attack a respectable lie^ 

] f you value a name, or a good reputation. 

A lie well established, and hoary with age. 

Resists the assaults of the boldest seceder ; 

While he is accounted the greatest of saints. 

Who silences reason and follows the leader. 

Whenever a mortal has dared to be wise, 

And seize upon Truth, as the soul's '* Magna Charta," 

He always has won from the lover of lies, 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

The name of a fool, or tlie fate of a martyr. 

There are popular lies, and political lies, 

And '^ lies that stick fast between buying and sellins;," 

And lies of politeness — conventional lies — 

(Which scarcely are reckoned as such in the telling). 

There are lies of sheer malice, and slanderous lies. 

From those who delight to peck filth like a pigeon ; 

But the oldest and far most respectable lies, 

Are those that are told in the name of Religion. 

Theology sits like a tyrant enthroned, 

A system per se with a fixed nomenclature, 

Derived from strange doctrines, and dogmas, and 

creeds, 
At war with man's reason, with G.od and with 

Nature ; 
And he who subscribes to a popular mytli. 
Never questions the fact of divine inspiration, 
But holds to the Bible as absolute truth, 
From Genesis, through to St. John's Revelation. 
We mock at the Catholic bigots at Rome 
Who strive with their dogmas man's reason to fetter ; 
But we turn to the Protestant bigots at home. 
And we find that their dogmas are scarce a whit 

better. 
We are called to beheve in the wrath of the Lord — 
In endless damnation, and torments infernal ; 



A RESPECTABLE LIE. 



While around and above us, the Infinite Truth, 
Scarce heeded of heard, speaks sul)hme and eternal. 
Jt is sad — but the day-star is shining on high, 
And Science comes in with her conquering legions ; 
And every respectable, time-honored lie. 
Will fly from her face to the mythical regions. 
The soul shall no longer with terror behold 
The red waves of wrath that leap up to engulf her, 
For Science ignores the existence of hell 
And Chemistry finds better uses for sulphur. 
We may dare to repose in the beautiful hope 
That an Infinite Life is the source of all being ; 
And though we must strive with delusion and Death, 
We can trust to a love and a wisdom all-seeing ; 
We may dare in the strength of the soul to arise, 
And walk where our feet sliall not stumble or falter; 
And, freed from the bondage of time-honored lies, 
To lay all we have on Truth's sacred altar. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
(34) 

MOODY CURRIER. 

Oh, tell me, man of sacred lore, 
Where dwells the Being you adore ? 
And where, oh man of thought profound, 
Where can the Eternal One be found ? 
Throughout the realms of boundless space 
We seek in vain his dwelling place. 

He dwells where'er the beams of light 
Have pierced the primal gloom of night ; 
Beyond the planet's feeble ray ; 
Beyond the comet's devious way ; 
Where'er amid the realms afar 
Shines light of sun or twinkling star. 
Above, below, and all around, 
Th' encircling arms of God are found. 
Where'er the pulse of life may beat 
His forming hand and power we meet. 
While every living germ of earth 
That sinks in death or springs to birth 
Is but a part of that great whole. 
Whose hfe is God, and God the soul. 



THE ETERNAL ONE, 

From plant to man, below, above. 

The power divine still throbs in love. 

He is the life that glows and warms 

In tiniest mote of living forms, 

Which quick'ning nature bring to birth, 

To float in air, or sink in earth ; 

And every shrub, and plant, and flower, 

That lives an age, or blooms an hour. 

Has just as much of God within 

As human life, or seraphim : 

For all that bloom, and all that shine. 

Are only forms of life divine ; 

And every ray that streaks tlie east. 

And every beam that paints the west. 

With every trembling gleam of light. 

With every gloom that shades the night. 

Are but the trailing robes divine 

Of one whose garments ever shine. 

The human soul may bend in love 

And seek for blessings from above, 

As well in busy haunts of "men. 

In forest gloom, in silent glen, 

As in the altar's solemn shade, 

Beneath the domes that men have made ; 

As well may seek a Father's love, 

And ask assistance from above. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Amid the ocean's solemn roar, 
Or on its barren waste of shore, 
As in some distant promised land, 
Where sacred fanes and temples stand. 
The soul that beats in sweet attune 
Finds in itself the Eternal One, 
Nor needs to seek for other shrine 
Than God's great temples all divine. 



( 35 ) 

'^hc 3nna tltixt glocKs the OTvucXk/' 

S. B. M. F. B. F. 

They say that man is mighty, 

He governs land and sea, 
He wields a mighty sceptre 

O'er lesser powers that be ; 
But a power mightier, stronger, 

Man from his throne has hurled, 
" For the hand that rocks the cradle 

Is the hand that rules the world." 

In deep, mysterious conclave, 
'Mid philosophic minds, 



"THE HA.ND THAT EOCKS THE CliADLE. 

Unraveling knotty problems, 
His native forte, man finds ; 

Yet all his "ics" and "isms" 

To heaven's four winds are hurled, 

" For the hand that rocks the cradle 
Is the hand that rules the world." 

Behold the brave commander, 

Stanch 'mid the carnage stand, 
Behold tlie guidon dying. 

With the colors in his hand. 
Brave men they be, yet craven, 

When this banner is unfurled, 
"The hand that rocks the cradle 

Is the hand that rules the world." 



Kings mold a people's fate, 
But the unseen hand of velvet 

These giants regulate. 
The iron arm of fortune 

With woman's charm is purled, 
" For the hand that rocks the cradle 

Is the hand that rules the world." 

8 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

(86) 

LORD LYTTON. 

There is no death ! The stars go down 
To rise upon some fairer shore : 

And bright in Heaven's jeweled crown 
They shine forevermore. 

There is no death ! The dust we tread 
Shall change beneath the summer showers 

To golden grain or mellowed fruit, 
Or rainbow-tinted flowers. 

The granite rocks disorganize, 

And feed the hungry moss they bear ; 

The forest leaves drink daily life, 
From out the viewless air. 

There is no death ! The leaves may fall, 
And flowers may fade and pass away ; 

They only wait through wintry hours, 
The coming of the May. 

There is no death ! An Angel form 
Walks o'er the earth with silent tread ; 

He bears our best loved things away ; 
And then we call them '^ dead." 



THERE IS NO DEATH. 

He leaves our hearts all desolate, 

He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers ; 

Transplanted into bliss, they now 
Adorn immortal bowers. 

The bird-like voice, whose joyous tones. 
Made glad these scenes of sin and strife, 

Sings now an everlasting song, 
Around the tree of life. 

Where'er he sees a smile too bright, 
Or heart too pure for taint and vice. 

He bears it to that world of light, 
To dwell in Paradise. 

Born unto that undying life. 

They leave us but to come again ; 

With joy we welcome them the same, — 
Excej)t their sin and pain. 

And ever near us, though unseen, 
The dear immortal spirits tread ; 

For all the boundless universe 
Is life — there are no dead. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
(37) 

[As a tribute of love to his many friends, those lines are sent out 
through the mediumship of Mrs. K. R. Stiles, under the inspi- 
ration of SPIRIT I. p. GREENLEAF.] 

At length, through Nature's law, my soul is free, 
Thou earnest not unbidden, Death, to me ; 
No '"King of Terrors," nor with visage grim. 
But as a mother, singing a sweet hymn. 

I waited for thee as one waits a guest ; 

For I was weary, and I longed for rest ; 

At last so gently didst tliou come, oh ! Death, 

Scarce did I know when thou didst claim my breath. 

1 followed thee, and thou didst lead me where 
The breath of flowers perfumed the summer air ; 
Their fragrance soothed me like a healing balm. 
While o'er my senses stole a heavenly calm. 

As in a dream J heard tlie glad refrain 
Of low, soft voices, singing "Home again ! " . 
1 turned to see from whence the sweet sound came. 
And as I turned, lo ! some one spoke my name. 



THE RELEASE. 

Tt was my mother's voice — I knew it well — 
It fell upon my ear with magic spell : 
'' Mother !" 1 cried, and at that single word 
All the deep fountains of my life were stirred. 

Jn tender tones she said : " My darling son ! 
Fought is the weary fight, the victory won ; 
Thou hast been faithful and thou shalt be blest : 
Yonder behold thy home — enter, and rest." 

Scarce could I speak, so great was my surprise, 
But as I looked I saw before me rise, 
As by some magic power, a mansion fair : 
"Enter," my mother said, "and rest thee there." 

I passed, and lo ! the beauteous sight 

Filled all my being with intense delight ; 

Here Nature spread her charms, and Art combined 

To form a pleasing picture for the mind. 

" Now rest thee here awhile," my mother said, 
The while with tender touch she stroked my head, 
'T was sweet to he thus pillowed on her breast ; 
No thought had I, but Mother, Home, and Rest. 
8* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

How long I know not tliere in sleep I lay, 
When to my ear tliere came from far away 
A sound of sorrow, like a sigh or moan, 
And words low-whispered, in a broken tone : 

*' He rests at length," I heard a soft voice say ; 
And then I watched them robe the lifeless clay — 
Watched as one watches ofttimes in a sleep. 
Scarce knowing if 't were best to smile or weep. 

At length I woke to perfect consciousness ; 
Awoke to feel my mother's fond caress ; 
Awoke to find that the long night was o'er, 
And that life, health, and strength, were mine once 
more. 

Farewell, old body ! house of clay, farewell ! 
Apart from thee my spirit now must dwell ; 
Yet would 1 linger for the moment near 
To give to thee the tribute of a tear. 

'T was through thy windows that my soul did view 
The outer world, and faces fond and true ; 
But I shall look through them no more — no more ! 
For they are barred, and bolted is thy door. 



THE CHILDREN. 

So fare thee well, old house of clay, farewell ! 
What fate awaits thee time alone can tel). 
For nie the present thought is that I live ; 
And whatsoe'er the future hath to give, 

I will accept with thankful, trusting heart, 
Asking but this : 'i hat I may still bear part 
In deeds of love to thwart each human ill — 
Of earth's great family be member still ! 
Worcester, Mass., Aug. 14, 1884. 



( 38 ) 

BY RICHARD REALF. 



Do you love me, little children ? 

Oh sweet blossoms that are curled 
(Life's tender morning-glories) 

Round the casement of the world ! 
Do your hearts climb up toward me 

As my own heart bends to you, 
In the beauty of your dawning 

And the brightness of your dew? 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

When the fragrance of your faces, 

And the rhythm of your feet, 
And the incense of your voices 

Transform the sullen street. 
Do you see my soul move softly 

Forever where you move, 
With an eye of benediction 

And a guardian hand of love ? 

Oh, my darlings, I am with you 

In your trouble, in your play, 
In your sobbing and your singing, 

In your dark and in your day, 
In the chambers where you^nestle. 

In the hovels where you lie, 
In the sunlight where you blossom, 

And the blackness where you die. 

Not a blessing broods above you 

But it lifts me from the ground ; 
Not a thistle barb doth sting you 

But I suffer with the wound ; 
And a chord within me trembles 

To your slightest touch or tone, 
And I famish when you hunger, 

And I shiver when you moan. 



THE CHILDREN. 

Can you tell me, little children, 

Why is it I love you so ? 
Why I'm weary with the burdens 

Of my sad and weary woe ? 
Do the myrtle and the aloes 

Spring blithely from one tree ? 
Yet, 1 love you, oh, my darlings ! 

Have you any flowers for me ? 

I have trodden all the spaces 

Of my solemn years alone, 
And have never felt the cooing 

Of a babe's breath near my own. 
But with more than father passion, 

And with more than mother pain, 
I have loved you, little children — 

Do you love me back again ? 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

(39) 

^ gjctct'5 HcatTx MouQ, 

[A poem written by Col. Realf on the day previous to his death.]* 
'' De mortuis nil nisi honum.^'' When 

For me the end has come, and 1 am dead, 
And little voluble, chattering daws of men 

Peck at me curiously., let it then be said 
By some one brave enough to speak the truth, 

Here lies a great soul killed by cruel wrong. 
Down all the balmy days of his fresh youth 

To his bleak, desolate noon, with sword and song, 
And speech that rushed up hotly from the heart, 

He wrought for liberty ; till his own wound, 
(He had been stabbed) concealed with painful art 

Through wasting years, mastered him, and he 
swooned, 
And sank there where you see him lying now, 
With that word " Failure " written on his brow. 

But say that he succeeded. If he missed 

World's honors and world's plaudits, and the wage 

Of the world's deft lackeys, still his lips were kissed 
Daily by those high angels who assuage 

The thirstings of the poets — for he was 
Born unto singing — and a burden lay 



A POETS DEATH SONG. 

Mightily on him, and he moaned because 
He could not rightly utter to this day 

What God taught in the night. Sometimes, nathless 
Power fell upon him, and bright tongues of flame, 

And blessings reached him from poor souls in stress; 
And benedictions from black pits of shame ; 

And little children's love ; and old men's prayers ; 

And a Great Hand that led him unawares. 

So he died rich. And if his eyes were bkirred 

With thick films — silence ! he is in his grave. 
Greatly he suffered ; greatly, too, he erred ; 

Yet broke his heart in trying to be brave. 
Nor did he wait till freedom had become 

The popular shibboleth of courtiers' hps ; 
But smote for her when God himself seemed dumb, 

And all his arching skies were in eclipse. 
He was a-weary, but he fought his fight, 

And stood for simple manhood ; and was joyed 
To see the august broadening of the light, 

And new earths heaving heavenward from the void. 
He loved his fellows, and tlieir love was sweet — 
Plant daisies at his head and at his feet. 



*San FRANci80,'0ct. 29th. —Col, Richard Realf committed suicide at 
the Windsor House, Oakland, last night, by the use of morphine. De- 
ceased came here recently from Pittsburg, and took a position in a 
mine. The suicide is attributed to ill health and domestic difficulties. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
(40) 

^ (^X^nc^ glclxtnxl tlxc (fTatx^tain. 

We see but half the causes of our deeds, 
Seeking them wholly in the outer life, 
And heedless of the encircHng spirit world, 
Which, though unseen, is felt, and sows in us 
All germs of pu7'e and world-wide purposes. 
From one stage of our being, to the next, 
We pass unconscious on a slender bridge, 
The momentary work of unseen hands, 
Which crumbles down beliind us; looking back 
We see the other shore, the gulf between, 
And, marveling how we won to where we stand, 
Content, ourselves to call the builder — Chance. 

No man is born into the world, whose work 

Is not born with him; thei'e is always work, 

And tools to work withal, for those who will; 

And blessed are the horny hands of toil ! 

The busy world shoves angrily aside 

The man who stands with arms akimbo set, 

Until occasion tells him what to do; 

And he who waits to have his task marked out 

Shall die and leave his errand unfulfilled. 



A GLANCE BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 

Our time is one that calls for honest deeds: 

Reason and Government, like two broad seas. 

Yearn for each other with outstretched arms 

Across this narrow isthmus of the throne, 

And roll their white surf higher every day. 

One age moves onward, and the next builds up 

Cities and gorgeous palaces, where stood 

The rude log huts of these who tamed the wild. 

Rearing from out the forests they had felled 

The goodly framework of a fairer state: 

The builder's trowel and the settler's axe 

Are seldom wielded by the self-same hand : 

Ours is the harder task, yet not the less 

Shall we receive the blessing for our toil 

From the choice spirits of the after time. 

My soul is not a palace of the past 

Where outworn creeds, like Rome's gray senate, 

Quake, hearing afar the Vandals' trumpets hoarse, 

Then shakes old systems with a thunder fit. 

Truth is eternal, but her effluence, 

With endless change, is fitted to the hour; 

Her mirror is turned forward to reflect 

The promise of the future, not i\iQ past. 

He who would win the name of truly great 

9 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Must understand his own age and the next, 

And make the present ready to fulfill 

Its prophecy, and with the future, merge 

Gently and peacefully, as wave with wave. 

The future works out great men's destinies; 

The present is enough for common souls, 

Who, never looking forward, are indeed 

Mere clay, wherein the footprints of their age 

Are petrified forever ! better those 

Who lead the blind old giant by the hand 

From out the pathless desert where he gropes, 

And set him onward in his darksome way. 

I do not fear to follow out the truth, 

Albeit along the precipice's edge. 

Let us speak plain: there is more 

Force in names than most men dream of: 

And a lie may keep its throne a tuhole age. longer, 

If it skulk behind the shield of some fair sceminrj name 

Let us call tyrants tyrants, and maintain 

That only freedom comes by grace of Nature,. 

All that comes not by her (/race must fall; 

For men in earnest have no time to waste 

Iw patchinf) fi(j haves for the naked truth. 

— Lowell. 



^'•0 MAY 1 JOIN THE CHOIR INVISIBLE. 

(41 ) 

S. B. E. S. B. 

" Loi)f/um illvd tempus, qtiuni nan ero 
magis me movet^ quam hoc {-xiguum.'''' 

— Cicero, :i(l Att.. XII. 18. 

may I join the choir invisible 

Of those immortal dead who live again 

In minds made better by their presence. 

Live 
In pulses stirred to generosity, 
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn 
For miserable aims that end with self, 
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, 
And with their mild persistence urge man's search 
To vaster issues. 

So to live is heaven: 
To make undying music in the world, 
Breathing as beauteous order that controls 
With growing sway the growing life of man. 
So we inherit tliat sweet purity 
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized 
With widening retrospect that bred despair. 
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued, 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

A vicious parent shaming still its child 
Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved; 
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, 
Die in the large and charitable air, 
And all our rarer, better, true self, 
That sobbed religiously in yearning song, 
That watched to ease the burthen of the world, 
Laboriously tracing what must be. 
And what may yet be better — saw within 
A worthier image for the sanctuary, 
And shaped it forth before the multitude 
Divinely human raising worship so 
To higher reverence more mixed with love — 
That better self shall live till human Time 
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky 
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb 
Unread forever. 

This is life to come. 
Which martyred men liave made more glorious 
For us who strive to follow. May 1 reach 
That purest heaven, be to other souls 
The cup of strength in some great agony, 
Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, 
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty — 
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, 



THE SPIRIT-MOTITER. 



And in diffusion ever more intense, 

So shall I join the choir invisible 

Whose music is the gladness of the world. 

— Georfje Eliot, 1867. 



(42) 

S. B. S. R. N. A. G. C. 

Through our lives' mysterious changes, 

Through the sorrow-haunted years, 
Runs a law of compensation 

For our sufferings and our tears. 
And the soul that reasons rightly, 

All its sad complaining stills. 
Till it learns that meek submission, 

Where it wishes not nor wills. 

Thus, in Sorrow's fiery furnace 
Was a faithful mother tried, 

Till, through Love's divinest uses. 
All her soul was purified, 

ye sorrow-stricken mothers ! 

Ye whose weakness feeds your pain ! 

Listen to her simple story — 

Listen ! and be strong again. 
9* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

*'lt was sunset — and ihe day-dream 

Of my life was almost o'er; 
For my spirit-bark was drifting 

Slowly, slowly from the shore. 
Dimly could I see the sunlight 

Through my vine-wreathed window shine, 
Faintly could I feel the pressure 

Of a strong hand clasping mine. 

" But anew the life-tide started, 

At my infant's feeble cry ; 
Back my spirit turned in anguish, 

And I felt I could not die. 
Deeper, darker fell the shadows, 

Like the midnight's sable pall, 
And that infant cry grew fainter — 

Fainter — fainter — that was all ! 

" Suddenly I heard sweet voices 

Mingling in a tender strain — 
All my mortal weakness left me, 

All my anguish and my pain. 
On my forehead fell in glory 

Of the bright, celestial morn, 
I was of the earth no longer, 

For my spirit was re-born. 



THE SPIRIT-MOTHER. 

" Pure, sweet faces bent above me, 

Tenderly they gazed and smiled, 
And my Angel-Mother whispered, 

' Welcome, welcome home, my child ! ' 
Then, in one melodious chorus, 

Sang the radiant angel band, 
* Welcome ! thou weary pilgrim ! 

Welcome to the Spirit Land ! ' 

" But, o'er all those glad rejoicings. 

Rose again my infant's cry, 
For my heart had borne the echo 

Through the portals of the sky. 
And I murmured, ' ye bright ones ! 

Still my earthly home is dear ; 
Vain are all your songs of welcome, 

For I am not happy here. 

" 'Strii^e your harps, ye white-robed angels! 

But your music makes me wild, 
For my heart is with, my treasure, 

Heaven is only with my child ! 
Let me go, and whisper comfort 

To my little mourning dove — 
Life is cold; O, let me shield him 

With a mother's tenderest love ! ' 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS! 

** Swift there came a pure, white angel, 

Through the glory, shining far. 
In her hand she bore a lily. 

On her forehead beamed a star, 
Very beautiful and tender 

Was the love-light in her eyes, 
Like the sunny smile of summer 

Beaming in -the azure skies. 

''And she said, 'O, mourning sister ! 

Lo ! thy prayer of love is heard, 
For the boundless Heart of Being 

By thine earnest cry is stirred. 
Heaven is hfe's divinest freedom, 

And no mandate bids thee stay ; 
Go, and as a star of duty. 

Guide thy loved one on his way. 

'' * Life is full of holy uses, 

If but rightly understood, 
And its evils and abuses 

May he stejp'ping -stones to good. 
Never seek to weakly shield him, 

Or his destiny control, 
For the ivealth that grief shall yield him, 

Is the birthright of his soul.'' 



THE SPIRIT-MOTHER. 

"Musing deeply on her meaning, 

Turned I from the heavenly shore, 
iVnd on love's swift wings descending. 

Sought my earthly home once more. 
There my widowed, childless sister 

Sat with meek and quiet grace, 
With her heart's great wasting sorrow, 

Written on her pale sweet face. 

" And she sang in dreamy murmurs, 

Bending o'er my Willie's head, 
' Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber, 

Holy angels guard thy bed,' 
Soft I whispered, 'Dearest sister — 

Darling Willie — I am here,' 
Sweetly smiled the sleeping infant, 

And the singer dropped a tear. 

'^ Thenceforth was my soul united 

To that life more dear than mine; 
And I prayed for strength to guide me, 

From the source of Life Divine. 
Slowly did I see the meaning 

In life's purposes concealed — 
All the uses of temptation, 

Sin and sorrow, stood revealed. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

" Through my loved one's youth and manhood, 

In the hour of sinful strife, 
I could see the nobler issues, 

And the grand design of life. 
I could see that he was guided 

By a mightier hand than mine. 
And a mother's love was weakness 

By the side of Love Divine. 

"Then I did not seek to shield him, 

Or his destiny control — 
Life, with all its varied changes, 

Was the teacher of his soul. 
Nay, I did not strive to alter 

What I could not make nor mend, 
For the love so full of wisdom, 

Could be trusted to the end. 

" I could not give him strength and courage 

From the treasures of my love — 
I could lead his aspirations 

To the holy heart above; 
I could warn him in temptation, 

That he might not bhndly fall; 
I could wait with faith and patience 

For his triumph — that was all. 



THE SPIRIT-MOTHER. 

"Mid the rush and roar of battle, 

In the carnival of death, 
When the air grew hot and heavy, 

With the cannon's fiery breath, 
First and foremost with the bravest, 

Who had heard their country's call, 
With the stars and stripes above him, 

Did my darling Willie fall. 

" Onward — onward rushed his comrades. 

With a wild, defiant cry, 
As they charged upon the foeman. 

Leaving him alone to die. 
Faint he murmured, '0, my mother ! 

Angel-mother ! art thou near?' 
And he caught the whispered answer, 

' Darling Willie, I am here ! 

'" O, my loved one ! my true-hearted ! 

Soon your anguish will be o'er; 
Then, in heaven's eternal sunshine. 

We shall dwell for evermore.' 
Swiftly o'er his pallid features, 

Gleams of heavenly brightness passed, 
And my Willie's noble spirit 

Met me face to face at last. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

"In a soldier's grave they laid him, 

Underneath the sheltering pines, 
Where the breezes made sweet music, 

Through the gently swaying vines. 
Now in heaven our souls united, 

All their aspirations blend 
And my spirit's holy mission 

Thus hath found a joyful end." 

Through our lives mysterious changes. 

Through the sorrow-haunted years 
Runs a law of Compensation 

For our sufferings and our tears; 
And the soul that reasons rightly, 

All its sad complaining stills, 
Till it gains that calm condition, 

Where it wishes not, nor wills. 



HAUNTED HOUSES. 

(43) 

giaxttxtcd gi0xxses. 

All houses, in which men have lived and died, 
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors 

The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, 
With feet that make no sound upon the floors. 

We meet them at the door- way, on the stair, 
Along the passages they come and go, 

Impalpable impressions on the air, 

A sense of something moving to and fro. 

There are more guests at table, than the hosts 

Invited ; the illuminated hall 
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, 

As silent as the pictures on the wall. 

The stranger at my fire-side cannot see 

The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear ; 

He but perceives what is ; while unto me 
All that Jias heen^ is visible and clear. 

We have no title deeds to house or lands ; 

Owners and occupants of earlier dates 
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands, 

And hold in mortmain still, their old estates. 

10 



sevp:n dozen gems. 

The s]nrit-w orld, around this world of sense, 
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere 

Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense, 
A vital breath of more ethereal air. 

Our little lives are kept in equipoise 

By opposite attractions and desires ; 
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys. 

And the more noble instinct that aspires, 

These perturbations, this perpetual jar 
Of earthly wants and aspirations high, 

Come from the influence of an unseen star. 
An imdiscovered planet in our sky. 

And, as the moon from some dark gate of cloud, 
Throws, o'er the sea, a floating bridge of light, 

Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd 
Into the realm of mystery and night, — 

So, from the world of spirits, there descends 
A bridge of light, connecting it with this, 

O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends, 
Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss. 

— Longfellow. 



NEARER TO THEE. 

(44) 

^cuxzx to 3^lxjee. 

The following Poem was given at the conclusion of a lecture on "The 
Present Condition of Theodore Parker in Spirit-Life." 

" Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
Nearer to Thee ! " — Parker's Favorite Hymn. 

Yes, I am nearer Thee ! for flesh and sense 
Have been exchanged for an eternal youth; 

My spirit hath been born anew, and hence 
I worship Thee "in spirit and in truth.'* 

Yes, I am nearer Thee ! Tliough still unseen, 
Thy presence fills my life's diviner part. 

Now that no earthly shadows intervene, 
1 feel the deeper sense of what Thou art. 

Yes, 1 am nearer Thee ! Thy boundless love 
Fills all my being with a rich increase. 

And soft descending, like a heavenly dove, 
I feel the benediction of Thy peace. 

Yes, I am nearer Thee ! All that I sought 
Of Truth, or Wisdom, or Eternal Right, 

Is clearly present to my inmost thought. 
Like the uprising of a glorious light. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Yes, I arn nearer Thee ! 0, calm and still, 
And beautiful and blest beyond degree, 

Is this surrender of my finite will — 
Is this absorption of my soul in Thee. 

"0 Thou ! whom men call God and know no more! " 
When they shall leave the worship of the Past, 

And learn to love Thee rather than adore, 
All souls shall draw thus near to Thee at last. 

— Doten^ 



(45) 

'^loxozx in tTxje (^XKunxtd UmitXX. 

Flower in the crannied wall, 

I pluck you out of the crannies ; — 

Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, 
Little flower — but if I could understand 

What you are, root and all, and all in all, 
I should know what God and man is, 

— Tennyson. 



HUMANITY. 

(46) 

S. B, F. J. S. T. 

1 would not enter on my list of friends 

(Though graced with polished manners and 

Fine sense, yet w^anting sensibility), the man 

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 

An inadvertent step may crush the snail 

That crawls at evening in the pubUc path ; 

But he that has humanity, forewarned, 

Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 

The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, 

And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, 

A visitor unwelcome, into scenes, 

Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, 

Tlie chamber, or refectory, may die ; — 

A necessary act incurs no blame. 

Not so when, held within their proper bounds. 

And guiltless of offense, they range the air. 

Or take their pastime in the spacious fields; 

There, they are privileged ; and he, that hurts 

Or harms them there, is guilty of a wrong. 

Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm. 

Who, when she formed, designed them an abode ; 

10* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

The sum is this: — if man's convenience, 
Health, or safety interfere, his rights and claims. 
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 
Else they are all — the meanest things that are^ — 
As free to live, and to enjoy that life. 
As Nature was free to form them at the first, 
Who, in her sovereign wisdom, made them all. 
Ye therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons 
To love it too. — Wm. Cowpei\ 



(47) 

S. B. F. J. S. T. 



True Love is but a humble, low-born thing, 
And hath its food served up in earthen ware ; 
It is a thing to walk with, hand in hand, 
Thro' the every-dayness of this work-day world. 
Baring its tender feet to every roughness, 
Yet letting not one heart-heat go astray 
Prom Beauty's law of plainness and content ; . 
A simple, fireside thing, whose quiet smile 
Can warm earth's poorest hovel to a home ; 



LOVE. 

Which, when our autumn cometh. as it must, 

And Hfe in the chill wind shivers bare and leafless, 

Shall still be blest with Indian-summer youth 

In bleak November, and, with thankful heart. 

Smile on its simple stores of garnered fruit 

As full of sunshine to our aged eyes 

As when it nursed the blossoms of our spring. 

Such is true love, which steals into the heart 

With feet as silent as the lightsome dawn 

That kisses smooth the rough brows of the dark, 

And hath its will through blissful gentleness, — 

Not like a rocket, which with savage glare, 

Whirrs suddenly up, then bursts, and leaves the night 

Painfully quivering on the dazed eyes ; 

A love that gives and takes, that seeih faults, 

Not with flaw-seeking eyes like needle points. 

But loving-kindly even looks them down 

With the o'er-coming hope of meek forgiveness ; 

A love that shall be new and fresh each hour, 

As is the golden mystery of sunset. 

Or the sweet coming of the evening star. 

Alike, and yet most unlike, every day. 

And seeming ever best and fairest now ; 

A love that doth not kneel for what it seeks. 

But faces Truth and Beauty as their peer, 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Showing its worthiness of noble thoughts 

By a clear sense of inward nobleness ; 

A love that in its object findeth not 

All grace Siudbeauty, and enough to sate 

Its thirst of blessing, but, in all of good 

Found there, it sees but Heaven-granted types 

Of good and beauty in the soul of man, 

And traces, in the simplest heart that beats, 

A family -likeness to its chosen one, 

That claims of it the rights of brotherhood. 

For love is blind but with the fleshly eye, 

That so its inner sight may be more clear; 

And outward shows of beauty only so 

Are needful at the first, as is a hand 

To guide and to uphold an infant's steps ; 

Great spirits need them not: their earnest look 

Pierces the body's mask of their disguise. 

And beauty ever is to them revealed. 

Behind the unshapliest, meanest lump of clay, 

With arms outstreched and eager face ablaze, 

Yearning to be bat understood and loved. 

— Lowell. 



INCOMPLETENESS. 

(48) 

S. B. F. J. S. T. 

Nothing resting in its own completeness 
Can have worth or beauty ; but alone 

Because it leads and tends to further sweetness, 
Fuller, higher, deeper than its own. 

Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning, 
Gracious though it be, of her blue hours; 

But is hidden in her tender leaning 

To the Summer's richer wealth of flowers. 

Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowly 
Into Day, which floods the world with light; 

Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy 
Just because it ends in starry Night. 

Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow 
From strife, that in a far-ofl: future lies; 

And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow) 
Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes. 

Life is only bright when it proceedeth 
Towards a truer, deeper Life above; 

Human Love is sweetest when it leadeth 
To a more divine and perfect Love. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Learn the mystery of Progression duly; 

Do not call each glorious change Decay ; 
But know we only hold our treasures truly, 

When it seems as if they passed away. 

Nor dare to blame Nature for incompleteness; 

In that want their beauty lies; they roll 
Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness, 

Bearing onward man's reluctant soul. 

— Proctor. 



(49) 

0^00x1 XIX aXL 

S. B. N. A. G. C. 



'Tis a beautiful thought, by Philosophy taught. 
That from all things created some good is outwrought; 
That each is for use, and. not one for abuse. 
Which leaves the transgressor no room for excuse. 

Thus the great, and the small, and the humblest of 

all, 
To action and duty alike have a call ; 
And he does the best, who excels all the rest, 
In making the lot of humanity blest. 



GOOD IN ALL. 

As Jonathan Myer sat one night by the fire, 
Watching the flames from the embers expire, 
O'er his senses there stole, and into his soul, 
A spell of enchantment he could not control. 

The wind shook his door and a terrible roar 

In his chimney was heard, Kke the waves on the 

shore. 
In wonder, amazed, old Jonathan gazed 
At the huge oaken back-log as fiercely it blazed. 

The flames of his fire leaped higher and higher, 

And out of its brightness looked images dire; 

'Till at length, a great brand straight on end seemed 

to stand. 
And then into human proportions expand. 

Old Jonathan said, with a shake of his head, 
'• There's nothing in Nature I've reason to dread. 
For my conscience is clear, and I'd not have a fear, 
Should Satan himself at this moment appear." 

" Ha ! your words shall be tried," quick the demon 
replied, 

'' For, lo ! / am Satan, here, close by your side. 

Men should never defy such a being as I, 

For when they least think it, behold I am nigh." 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS, 

Said Jonathan Myer, as he stirred up the fire, 
" Your face nor your figure I do not admire, 
But, if that is your style, why, it isn't worth while 
For me to find fault or your Maker revile. 

" Now don't have a fear, lest it should appear 
That you're an intruder — I welcome you here ! 
So pray take a seat, and warm up your feet. 
For I think 1 have heard that you're partial to heat." 

" Well, you are either a fool or remarkably cool," 
Said Satan — accepting the low wooden stool — 
" But before I depart, I will give you a start 
Which will send back the blood with a rush to your 
heart." 

" Well, and what if you should ? It might do one 
good, 

For a shock sometimes helps one — so I've under- 
stood. 

But just here let me say, that for many a day 

I've been hoping and wishing you'd happen this way. 

"So give us your hand, and you'll soon understand, 
What a work in the future for you I have planned." 
Satan's hand then he seized, which he forcibly 

squeezed. 
At which the arch-fiend looked more angry than 

pleased. 



GOOD IN ALL. 

A puzzled surprise looked out of his eyes, 

Which was really quite strange for the "father of 

lies." 
"Come," said he. "this won't do — /am Satan, not 

you,'' 
Said Jonathan Myer, " Very true, very true. 

" Now don't get perplexed, excited or vexed, 
At what I'm about to present to you next, 
Your attention please lend, or you'll see in the end. 
That Jonathan Myer, at least, is your friend. 

^' ]'ve been led to suppose, in spite of your foes, 
That you are far better than any one knows. 
Now, if there is good, in stock, stone, or wood, 
I'm bound to get at it, as every one should. 

"So I'll not have a fear — though you seem sort 

o' queer — 
But what all your goodness will shortly appear. 
Pact — I know that it will, though too mingled with 

ill, 
So — so — don't get restless — be patient — sit still. 

"Now I long since agreed, that there was great need 
Of a Devil and Hell in the Orthodox Creed. 
All things are for use, and none for abuse, 
(And the same law applies to a man or a goose). 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

" So they'll keep you in play til! the Great Judg- 
ment Day, 
When the Saviour of sinners will thrust you away. 
But then, don't you see, they and I don't a^ree; 
So you'll not be obliged to play Satan to me. 

" Even now, in your eyes, does there slowly arise 
A look, which no lover of good can despise. 
So open your heart and its goodness impart, 
P'or now there's no need you should practice your 
art." 

Oh, strange to relate ! all that visage of hate, 
Which wore such a fearful expression of late, 
Grew gentle and mild as the face of a child. 
Ere the springs of its life have with doubt been 
defiled. 

And a voice, soft and low as a rivulet's flow, 
Said gently, *' I was but in seeming your foe, 
Man ever will find in himself or his kind 
Either evil or good, as he makes up his mind. 

"As God is in all, so he answered your call. 
And the evil appearance to you is let fall. 
This truth I commend to you as a friend, 
That evil will all change to good in the end." 



LITTLE PEOPLE. 

Then Jonathan Myer sat alone by his fire, 

'Till he saw the last light from the embers expire. 

And he thoughtfully said, as he turned towards his 

bed, 
"I will banish all hafe and put love in its stead.'' 

"■ I will DO, and not dream — I will be and not seem, 
And the triumph of goodness I'll take for my theme. 
Great Spirit above ! I have learned through thy 

love. 
That the Serpent has uses as well as the dove." 



(50) 

A dreary place would be this earth. 
Were there no little people in it; 

The song of life would lose its mirth. 
Were there no children to begin it. 

No little forms, like buds to grow. 

And make the admiring heart surrender; 

No little hands on breast and brow, 

To keep the thrilling love-chords tender. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Tlie sterner souls would grow more stern, 
Unfeeling nature more inhuman, 

And man to stoic coldness turn, 

And woman would be less than woman. 

Life's song, indeed, would lose its charm, 
Were there no babies to begin it; 

A doleful place this world would be, 
Were there no little people in it. 



(51) 

You may take the world as it comes and goes, 

And you will be sure to find 
That fate will square the account she owes, 

Whoever comes out behind; 
And all things bad that a man has done, 

By whatsoever induced, 
Return at last to him, one by one, 

As the chickens come home to roost. 

You may scrape and toil, and pinch and save, 
While your hoarded wealth expands, 

Till the cold, dark shadow of the grave 
Is nearing your life's last sands; 



WHKN THE CHICKENS COME HOME. 

You will have your balance struck some night, 
And you'll find your hoard reduced, 

You'll view your life in another light, 
When the chickens come home to roost. 

You can stint your soul, and starve your heart 

With the husks of a barren creed, 
But you will know if you play a part, 

Will know in your hour of need; 
And then as you wait for death to come 

What hope can there be deduced 
l^>om a creed alone ? you will lie there dumb 

While your chickens come home to roost. 

Sow as you will, tlu^re's time to reap, 

For the good and bad as well, 
And conscience, whether we wake or sleep. 

Either in heaven or hell. 
And every wrong will find its place, 

And every passion loosed, 
Drifts back and meets you face to face — 

When the chickens come home to roost. 

Whether you're over or under the sod 

The result will be the same; 

You cannot escape the hand of God, 

You must bear your sin or shame: 
11* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

No matter what 's carved on a marble slab, 
When the items are all produced 

You'll find that Old Peter was keeping 'Hab,' 
And that chickens come home to roost. 



(52) 

We shall lack nothing, having love; and we, 
We must be happy everywhere, — we two; 
For spiritual life is great and clear, 
And self -continuous as the changeless sea. 

. . As is the sea's, 
So is the life of spirit, and the ki»d. 
And then, with natures raised, refined, and freed 
From these poor forms, our days shall pass in peace 
And love ; no thought of human littleness 
Shall cross our high, calm souls, shining and pure 
As the gold gates of heaven. 

This life, this world, is not enough for us; 
They are nothing to the measure of our mind. 
We live in deeds not years; in thoughts not breaths; 



SONNET. 

In feelings, not in figures on a dial. 

We should count time by heart-throbs. He most 

lives 
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. 
We never can be deathless till we die. 



(53) 

There never yet was flower fair in vain, 
Let classic poets rhyme it as they will; 
The seasons toil that it may blow again, 
And summer's heart doth feel its every ill; 
Nor is a true soul ever born for naught; 
Wherever any such hath lived and died, 
There hath been something for true freedom wrought. 
Some bulwark leveled on the evil side: 
Toil on, then, Greatness ! thou art in the right, 
However narrow souls may call thee wrong; 
Be as thou wouldst be in thine own clear sight. 
And so thou shalt be in the world's erelong; 
For worldlings cannot, struggle as they may. 
From man's great soul one great thought hide away. 

— Lowell. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

(54) 

S. B. W. C. S. 

Rise ! for the day is passing, 

And you lie dreaming on ; 
The others have buckled their armour, 

And forth to the fight are gone ; 
A place in the ranks awaits you, 

Each man has some part to play ; 
The Past and the Future are nothing. 

In the face of the stern To-day. 

Rise from your dreams of the Future, 

Of gaining some hard -fought held; 
Of storming some airy fortress, 

Or bidding some giant yield ; 
Your Future has deeds of glory. 

Of honor, (God grant it may !) 
But your arm will never be stronger, 

Or the need so great as To-day. 

Rise ! if the Past detains you. 
Her sunshine and storms forget ; 

No chams so unworthy to hold you 
As those of a vain regret ; 



THE SONG OF SEVENTY. 

Sad or bright, she is lifeless now ; 

Cast her phantom arms away. 
Nor look back, save to learn the lesson 

Of a nobler strife To day. 

Rise ! for the day is passing ; 

The sound that you scarcely hear 
Is the enemy marching to battle ; — 

Arise ! for the foe is here ! 
Stay not to sharpen your weapons, 

Or the hour will strike at last. 
When, from dreams of a coming battle, 

You may wake to find it past ! 

— Adelaide Proctor. 



(55) 

Site J^ouB of ^jcujcnttj. 

S. B. N. E. S. 

I am not old — 1 cannot be old, 
Though three score years and ten 

Have wasted away, like a tale that is told, 
The hves of other men. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

I am not old ; though friends and foes 
Alike have gone to their graves, 

And left me alone to my joys or my woes, 
As a rock in the midst of the waves. 

1 am not old — I cannot be old, 

Though tottering, wrinkled, and gray ; 
Though my eyes are dim, and my marrow is 

Call me not old to-day. [cold. 

For early memories round me throng, — 

Old times, and manners, and men, — 
As I look behind on my journey so long. 

Of three score miles and ten. 

I look behind, and am once more young, 

Buoyant, and brave, and bold. 
And my heart can sing, as of yore it sung, 

Before they called me old. 
I do not see her — the old wife there — 

Shriveled, and haggard, and gray. 
But I look on her blooming, and soft, and fair. 

As she was on her wedding-day ! 

I do not see you, daughters and sons, 
In the likeness of women and men, 

But I kiss you now as I kissed you once, 
My fond little children then! 



THE SONG OF SEVENTY 

And as my grandson rides on my knee, 

Or plays with bis "hoop or kite, 
1 can well recollect 1 was merry as he — 

The bright-eyed little wight ! 

'Tis not long since — it cannot be long, 

My years so soon were spent — 
Since T was a boy, both straight and strong, 

Yet now am 1 feeble and bent, 
A dream, a dream — it is all a dream; 

A strange, sad dream, good sooth; 
For old as 1 am, and old as I seem, 

My heart is full of youth. 

Eye hath not seem, tongue hath not told, 

And ear hath not heard it sung, 
How buoyant and bold though it seem to grow 

Is the heart, forever young. [old, 

Forever young, — though life's old age 

Hath every nerve unstrung ; 
The heart, the heart is a heritage 

That keeps the old man young. 

— Tupper. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
(50) 

The old world is effete ; there man with man 

Jostles, and. in the brawl for means to live, 

Life is trod under foot, — Life, the one block 

Of marble that's vouchsafed wherefrom to carve 

Our great thoughts, white and Godlike, to shine down 

The future. Life, the irredeemable block, 

Which one o'erhasty chisel dint oft mars, 

Scanting our room to cut the features out 

Of our full hope, so forcing us to crown 

With a mean head the perfect limbs, or 

Leave the god's face glowing o'er a satyr's trunk. 

Failure's brief epitaph. 

— Lowell. 



(57) 

S. B. N. A. G. C. 

World ! somewhat I have to say to thee. 

sin-sick, heart-sick, soul-sick, love-sick World ! 

So ailing art thou, both in part and particle, 

That solid truth thy stomach ill digests. 

Yet, since thou art my mother, I will love thee. 

And heedless of thy frowns, ''will speak right on." 



LOVE. 



That which belongs to all men is least prized ; 

The thing most cominon is least understood. 

That which is deep and silent, is divine; 

And there is nought on earth so craved, so common, 

So misunderstood, or so divine, as Love. 

When meted in proportion to man's need, 
" xMeasure for measure," it doth purify, 
Exalt, and make him equal with the gods. 
He feeds upon ambrosia, and his drink 
Is nectar ; high Olympus cannot yield 
Delights more grateful to his soul and sense. 

Parnassus fails his rapture to express, 

And Helicon hath less of inspiration, 

But, prithee, should he chance to drink too deep 

Of the exhilarating draught, —should plunge 

Him head and ears into this 'wildering flood, 

Mark, then, what marvelous diversions 
From the center of his gravity ensue. 

Judgment is scouted — sober common sense 

Yields to imagination's airy flights ; 

Upon a swift- winged hippogriff he mounts, 

To seek the fair Arcadia of his dreams. 

He builds him castles — basks in moonshine — feeds 

12 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Among lilies — pours his passion forth 

In amorous canticles and burning sighs — 

Makes him a bed of roses, and lies down 

To revel in his rainbow-colored dreams — 

Until some turn, some ill-begotten chance, 

Most unexpectedly invades his peace, 

And castles, moonshine, roses, rainbows fly, 

And leave him to the stern lealities of life. 

Alas, poor Human Nature ! Even fools 

Must learn through sad experience to grow wise. 

Love is the highest attribute of Nature ; 
And he who loves divinely is most blest. 
It purgeth passion from the soul and sense, 
And makes the man a unit in himself ; 
Head, eyes, hands, heart, all work in unison,. 
And beasts, and savages, and rudest hinds^ 
All feel alike its exercise of power. 

Ambition cannot walk with it ; for he 
Who learns to live and love aright, loves all, 
And finds preferment in the general weal. 
Though, Proteus like, it taxes a thousand forms,. 
It doth o'ercome all evil with its good, 
Casteth out devils — sensuality, and sin, 



LOVE. 



And green-eyed jealousy, and hate ; and like 
Chrysostom, golden -mouthed, it doth attune 
The words of common speech to sweet accord, 
And gives significance to simplest things. 

It buddeth out in tender infancy. 

Like fresh blown violets in the early spring, 

And giveth form and fashion to all life, 

For, by its character, it doth decide 

What elements and essences the soul 

Shall draw from contact with material things. 

As roses draw their blushes, lilies whiteness, 

Violets their azure, from the same dull earth, 

So Love extracts the sweetness of Life, 

And doth so mingle all within her crucible, 

That she creates the difference between 

Immortal souls. The fiery heart of youth. 

Full of high aims and generous purposes of good, 

Swells like the ocean waves beneath the moon. 

And brooketh no restraint, until it finds 

Its living counterpart, and mergeth all 

It hath of truth, and manliness, and might. 

Into a second and a dearer self. 

So goes the world ! and strong necessity 
Creates the law of action, whose results 



SEVE^^ DOZEN GEMS. 

Join issue with the love of Truth itself. 

O jealous, wanton, ill-conceited World ! 

How little dost thou undersiand the deep 

Significance and potency of Love! 

Thou has defiled thyself with gross perversions, 

Till purity of love is hut &> Jest, 

Or reckoned with the fantasies of fools. 

O, I would take thee, dear Humanity, 

And set thee face to face with perfect Love. 

jSIie is thy mother! Love and Wisdom met 

United by Eternal Power. The worlds 

Sprang forth from chaos;, and the love which 

brought 
Them into bein^ doth sustain them still. 
The monad and the angel rest alike 
Within its all embracing arms ; and life, 
And death, with all that makes our mortal state, 
Are cradled at the footstool of this power. 
Then, sweet Humanity, thou favored child 
Look up ! An everlasting chain 
Doth bind thee to the mighty heart of all. 
Lovers labor never can he lost. 

And that, which hath such poor expression here, 
Shall find fruition in a brighter sphere. 

— Do! en. 



LIFE. HOW WONDERFUL IS MAN! 

(58) 

Life, I know not what thou art, 

But know that thou and I must part; 

And when or how or where we met, 

I own to me 's a secret yet. 

Life, we 've been long together 

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather. 

^ Tis hard to part when friends are dear; 

Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear; 

Then steal away, give little warning; 

Choose thine own time; 
Say not good -night, but in some brighetr clime 

Bid me good- morning. 

— Anna L. Barbauld, 1743-182o. 



(59.) 

lloxxr WionCii^xfxxX is DXaix I . 

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 
How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! 
How passing wonder that which made him such, 
That centered in our make such strange extremes, 

12* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

From different natures marvelously mixed, 
Connection exquisite of distant worlds, 
Distinguished link in being's endless chain, 
Midway from nothing to Infinity ! 
A beam ethereal sullied, and absorpt ! 
Though sullied and dishonored, still divine ! 
Dim miniature of greatness absolute, 
An heir of glory, a frail child of dust. 
Helpless immortal, insect infinite ! 
A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myself. 
And in myself am lost, — at home, a strarujer. 

An angeVs arm canH siiatch me from the grave ; 
Legions of angels canH confine me there. 

This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, 
The twilight of our day, the vestibule. 
Life's theater as yet is shut ; and death, 
Strong death alone, can heave the massy bar, 
This gross impediment of clay remove, 
And make us embryos of existence free. 

— Edivard Young, llJfi. 



THE TIME HAS COME. 
(60.) 

The time has come to stand erect, 
In noble, manly self-respect ; 
To see the bright sun overhead, 
To feel the ground beneath our tread, 
Unled by priests, un cursed by creeds, 
Our manhood proving by our deeds. 

The time has come to break the yoke, . 
Whatever cost the needed stroke ; 
To set the toiling millions free, 
Whatever price their hbsrty : 
Better a few should die, than all 
Be held in worse than deadly thrall. 

The time has come for men to find 
Their Statute-book ivitldn the mind ; 
To read its laws, and cease to pore 
The musty tomes of ages o'er : 
Truth's golden rays its page illume ; 
Her fires your legal scrolls consume. 

The time has come to preach the soul; 
Xo meagre shred, the manly whole. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Let agitation come : wlio fears ? 
We need a flood : the filth of years 
Has gathered round us. Roll, then, on 
What cannot stand had best be gone. 



— Denton. 



(C>1) 

©utwarxX gmttxxl. 

S. B. M F. B. F. 

It was midnight dark, when I launched my bark 

On a wild, tempestuous sea; 
The lightnings flashed, and the white waves dashed 

Like steeds from the rein set free. 
'Twas a fearful night, and no beacon-light 

O'er the waste of waters shone ; 
On the wide, wide sweep of the angry deep, 

Alas ! I was all alone. 

I had left behind the faithful and kind, 

The gentle and true of heart ; 
O God above ! from their clinging love, 

It was hard, it was hard to part. 
O, why did I leave such hearts to grieve, 

And haste from my home away ? 
'Twas the chosen hour of a mighty power, 

Whose summons 1 must obey. 



OUTWAKD BOUND. 

I had heard the call which must come to all, 

And I felt, by my quickened breath, 
I must leave that shore to return no more, 

For the name of that sea was Death. 
Thus Outward Bound, with a dizzy sound 

Like waves in my troubled brain, 
1 drifted away like a soul astray. 

For I felt that to strive was vain. 

Like the brooding wing of some grewsome things 

llie darkness around me spread; 
The wild winds roared, and the tempests poured 

Their hiry upon my head. 
Anon through the nights, like serpents bright, 

The quivering lightnings came, 
Or an instant coiled where the white waves boiled. 
To moisten their tongues of flame. 

In the giddy whirl, in the greedy swirl, 

I felt I was sinking fast. 
When an arm, as white as the opal bright, 

Was firmly around me cast. 
And a well-known voice made my heart rejoice 

" Fear not ! for the strife is o'er ; 
To your resting-place in my warm embrace, 

Do I welcome you back once more." 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

'Twas my mother dear spake those words of cheer, 

Whom I met with a glad surprise, 
For I thought she slept where the willows wept, 

Till the day when the dead should rise. 
I had passed away from my form of clay. 

But not to a distant sphere ; 
Like a troubled dream did the struggle seem, 

For my spirit still lingered here. 

I had weathered the storm, but my mortal form 

Like a wreck in my presence lay ; 
They said I was dead when my spirit fled. 

And with weeping they turned away. 
Then the dearest came, and she sobbed my name, 

But how could those pale lips speak ? 
She bent o'er my form like a reed in the storm, 

As she kissed my clay-cold cheek. 

I was with her there, and with tender care 

I folded her close to my breast. 
Till the heart's wild throb, and the bursting sob, 

Were silenced and soothed to rest. 
O human love ! there is naught above. 

That ever will rudely part 
The sacred tie, or the union high. 

Of those who are one in heart. 



OUTWARD BOUND. 

A bridge leads o'er from the heavenly shore, 

Where the happy spirits pass, 
And the angels that stand with harp in hand, 

On the '^ sea, as it were, of glass," 
Play so soft and clear, that the human ear, 

And the spirits who love the Lord, 
Can catch the sound through the space profound^ 

And join in the sweet accord. 

Oh, what is death ? 'Tis a fleeting breath — 

A simple but blessed change — 
'Tis rending a chain, that the soul may gain 

A higher and broader range. 
Unbounded space is its dweUing place, 

Whei-e no human foot hath trod, 
But everywhere doth it feel the care 

And the changeless love of God. 

O, then, though you weep when your loved ones, 
sleep, 

When the rose on the cheek grows pale, 
Yet their forms of light, just concealed from sight, 

Are only behind the veil. 
With their faces fair, and their shining hair 

With blossoms of beauty crowned, 

They will also stand, with a helping hand 

When you shall be Outward Bound. 

— Dot en. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

(02) 

gymtx t0 gjcittlx. 

S. B. N. A. G. C. 

Oh ! could I hope the wise and pure in heart 

Might hear my song without a frown, nor deem 

My voice unworthy of the theme it tries, — 

I would take up the hymn to Death, and say 

To the grim power: The world hath slandered thee 

And mock'd thee. On thy dim and shadowy brow 

They place an iron crown, and call thee king 

Of terrors, and the spoiler of the world. 

Deadly assassin, that strikest down the fair. 

The loved, the good — that breathest on the lights 

Of virtue set along the vale of life, 

And they go out in darkness. I am come, 

Not with reproaches, not with cries and prayers, 

Such as have stormed thy stern, insensible ear 

From the beginning ; I am come to speak 

Thy praises. True it is, tliat I have wept 

Thy conquests, and may weep them 3^et again, 

And thou, from some I love, wilt take a life 

Dear to me as my own. Yet while the spell 

Is on my spirit, and I talk with thee 

In sight of all thy trophies, face to face. 



HYMN TO DEATH. 

Meet is it that my voice should utter forth 
Thy nobler triumphs; I will teach the world 
To thank thee. Who are thine accusers ? Who ? 
The living ! — They w^ho never felt thy power, 
And know thee not. The curses of the wretch 
Whose crimes are ripe, his sufferings when thy hand 
Ts on him, and the hour he dreads is come, 
Are writ among thy praises. But the good — 
Does he whom thy kind hand dismiss to peace, 
Upbraid the gentle violence that took off 
His fetters, and unbarred his prison cell ? 
Raise then the hymn to Death. Deliverer ! 

Thou dost avenge, in thy good time, the wrongs of 

those Vvdio know 
No other friend. Nor dost thou interpose. 
Only to lay the sufferer asleep, 
Where he who made him wretched, troubles not 
His rest — thou dost strike down his tyrant too. 
Oh, there is joy when hands, that held the scourge, 
Drop lifeless, and the pitiless heart is cold. 
Thou, too, dost purge from earth its horrible 
And old idolatries ; — from the proud fanes 
Each to his grave their priests go out, till none 
Is left to teach their worship; then the fires 

13 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Of sacrifice are cliilled, and the green moss 
O'er creeps their altars; the fallen images 
Cumber the weedy courts, and for loud hymns, 
Chanted by kneeling multitudes, the wind 

Shrieks in the solitary aisles 

But, oh, most fearfully 

Dost thou show forth Heaven's justice, when thy 

shafts 
Drink up the ebbing spirit — then the hard 
Of heart and violent of hand restores 
The treasure to the friendless wretch he wronged. 
Then, from the writhing bosom, thou dost pluck 
The guilty secret; lips, for ages sealed, 
Are faithless to their dreadful trust at length. 
And give it up; the felon's latest breath 
Absolves the innocent man w^ho bears his crime; 
The slanderer, horror-smitten, and in tears. 
Recalls the deadly obloquy he forged 

To work his brother's ruin 

Thus, from the first of time, hast thou been found 

On virtue's side; the wicked, but for thee. 

Had been too strong for the good ; the great of earth 

Had crushed the weak forever 

— Bryant. 



UNNUMBERED GRAVES. 

(63) 

Yon hillside with its shafts of gleaming white, 

Bathed in the glory of the setting sun, 
Holds many a grave, where, hidden from our sight, 

Some loved one sleeps, life's toil and labor done. 
But there are graves o'er whose slumbering mould 

No poHshed marble rears its stately head, 
And where no fragrant flowers above unfold, 

To awaken pity for the quiet dead. 

These are the graves deep down within our hearts, 

Where lie the hopes and dreams of early years, 
Buried from sight, but signaled by such marks 

As only can be made by blood and tears — 
Some early love that crowned us in our youth. 

And made life glorious for a short sweet hour — 
Some cherished promise, robbed of strength and truth, 

Crushed in the morning of its new-born power. 

Here is the spot where memory has engraved 
The form and face of one we called a friend, 

One for whose welfare we would e'en have braved 
Censure and heartache to the bitter end. 



SEVEN l^OZEN GEMS. 

But twas not wisely done, and so we draw 
Before the treachery of the snnhng eyes 

A heavy veil. The cold world if it saw 
Would proffer pity m a thousand lies. 

So life goes on. We lay the forms away 

Of things we loved not wisely but too well, 
And in the lapse of years we learn to stay 

The fretted chanting of their funeral knell. 
We learn to smile before the smiling throng, 

Although the adder's fangs be deeply set; 
And join, perhaps, our voices in the song, 

To sooth the pain we never can forget. 

And thus we learn to envy the calm rest 

Of those who sleep beneath the silent sod. 
Bound with life's galling chains, we know 'tis best 

To bow our heads and pass beneath the rod; 
And when we see some mourners heavy clad 

In robes of black, haggard, with tear-dimmed eye, 
We know their lives would be moi-e bright and glad 

Could they but reason — it is life to die. 

Mourn not the slumbering dead, but rather say 
Blest are the sleepers. Years may come and go; 

Heads that are brown and gold may turn to gray; 
But they are done with Ccirtli and tears and woe. 



HOPE FOR THE SORROWING. 



Somewhere, we know, beyond the world of stars, 
They will at last have found sweet Lethe's stream ; 

Sometime will meet them in the "over there," 
Where life is love, and love, one long true dream. 

— Anon. 



(64) 

This was delivered at the funeral service of Henry L. Kingman of 
North Bridgewater, Maes., November, 1862. 

BY LIZZIE DOTEN. 

Ye holy ministers of Love, 

Blest dwellers in the upper spheres, 

In vain we fix our gaze above, 
For we are blinded by our tears. 

0, tell us to wliat land unknown 
The soul of him we love has flown ? 

He left us when his manly heart 

With earnest hope was beating high ; 

Too soon it seemed for us to part ; 
Too soon, alas ! for him to die. 

We have the tenement of clay, 
But aye the soul has passed away. 

13* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Away, into the unknown dark, 

With fearless heart and steady hand, 

He cahiily kuuched his fragile bark, 
To seek the spirit's fatherland. 

Say, has he reached some distant shore, 
To speak with us on earth no more ? 

We gaze into unmeasured space, 
And lift our tearful eyes above, 

To catch the gleaming of his face. 
Or one light whisper of his love. 

O God ! angels ! hear our cry, 
Nor let our hope in darkness die ! 

Hark ! for a voice of gentle tone 
The answer to our cry hath given. 

Soft as ^Eolian harp strings blown. 
Responsive to the breath of even — 

^' I have not sought a distant shore, 
Lo ! I am with you — weep no more. 

^' Aye ! Love is stronger far than death, 
And wins the victory o'er the grave; 

Dependent on no mortal breath. 
Its mission is to guide and save. 

Above the wrecks of Death and Time, 
It triumphs, changeless and sublime. 



WHAT MAKES A MAX. 

-" Still shall my love its vigils keep, 
True as the needle to the pole, 

For Death is not a dreamless sleep. 
Nor is the Grave man's final goal. 

The larger growth, — the life divine, — 
All that I hoped or wished, are mine.' 

Blest spirit ! we will weep no more, , 
But lay our selfishness to rest ; 

Condition's laws which we respect 
Have ordered all thing for the best. 

Life's battle fought, the victory won. 
To nobler toils pass on ! pass on ! 



(05) 

MUaat makes a BXaw. 

Not years that crown a lengthened life; 
Not numerous children and a wife; 
Not pins, nor chains, nor glittering rings, 
Nor any other trumpery things; 
Not poisonous pipe nor vile cigar, — 
From those true manhood stands, afar; 
Not coat, nor boots, nor stove-pipe hat, 
A dandy vest, or trim cravat; 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Not Latin, Greek, nor Hebrew lore, 
For tliousand volumes rambled o'er; 
Not general, reverend, count, nor squire, 
For manhood's titles must be higher; 
Not ancestry traced back to Will, 
Who went from Normandy to kill; 
Not judge's robes, nor mayor's mace, 
Nor crowns tliat deck the royal race; 
Not all the power great Caesar had, 
Whose smile could make a nation glad; 
Not all the wealth beneath the sun, 
Nor all the fame Napoleon won; 
These, though united, never can 
Avail to make a full-grown man. 
An upright spirit, cultured mind; 
A soul in love with all mankind, 
That never stoops to gain its ends, 
And blesses both its foes and friends; 
A spirit firm, erect, and free, 
That never basely bends the knee; 
That truly speaks from God within, 
And never makes a league with sin; 
That snaps the fetters despots make, 
And loves the truth for its own sake; 
That for it would most freely die, 
And ready stands to smite a lie; 



FEW HAPPY MARRIAGES. 

That trembles at no tyrant's nod, — 
A soul that fears not even God, 
And thus can scorn the bigot's ban, — 
That is the soul that niakes a man. 

— Denton. 



(G6) 

BY ISAAC WATTS, D.D., AUGUST, 1701. 

Say, mighty Love, and teach my song, 
To whom my sweetest joys belong, 

And who the happy pairs 
"Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands. 
Find blessings twisted with their bands. 

To soften all their cares. 

Not the wild herd of nymphs and swains 
That thoughtless fly into the chains, 

As custom leads the way ; 
If there be bliss without design, 
Ivies and oaks may grow and twine. 

And be as blest as the v. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Not sordid souls of earthly mould 
Who draw by kindred charms of gold 

To dull embraces move ; 
So two rich mountains of Peru 
May rush to wealthy marriage too, 

And make a world of Love. 

Not the mad tribe that hell inspires 
With wanton flames, those raging fires 

The purer bliss destroy; 
On Etna's top let furies wed, 
And sheets of lightning dress the bed 
T' improve the burning joy. 

Nor the dull pairs whose marble forms 
None of the melting passions warm, 

Can mingle hearts and hands; 
Logs of green wood that quench the coals 
Are married just like stoic souls, 

With osiers for their bands. 

Not minds of melancholy strain, 
Still silent, or that still complain, 

Can the dear bondage bless; 
As well may heavenly concerts spring 
From two old lutes with ne'er a string, 

Or none beside the bass. 



FEW HAPPY MARRIAGES. 

Nor can the soft enchantments hold 
Two jarring souls of angry mould, 

The rugged and the keen; 
Sampson's young foxes might as well 
In bands of cheerful wedlock dwell, 

With firebrands tied between. 

Nor let the cruel fetters bind 
A gentle to a savage mind, 

For Love abhors the sight; 
Loose the fierce tiger from the deer, 
For native rage and native fear 

Rise and forbid delight. 

Two kindred souls alone must meet, 
'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet. 

And feeds their mutual loves; 
Bright Venus on her rolling throne 
Is drawn by gentlest birds alone, 

And Cupids yoke the doves. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

( «7 ) 

LIZZIE DOTEN. 

'•The bond which unites the human to the divine is Love, and Love 
is the longina: of the Soul for Beauty: inextinguishable desire which 
like feels for like, which the divinity within us feels for the divinity 
revealed to us in Beauty. Beauty is Truth."— Ptoto. 

I have come from the heart of all natural things, 
Whose life from the Soul of the Beautiful springs; 
You shall hear the sweet waving of corn in my voice^ 
And the musical whisper of leaves that rejoice, 
For my lips have been touched by the spirit of prayer^ 
Which lingers unseen in the soft summer air; 
And the smile of the sunshine that brightens the skies, 
Hath left a glad ray of its light in my eyes. 

On the sea-beaten shore — 'mid the dwellings of men — 
In the field, or the forest, or wild mountain glen; 
Wherever the grass or a daisy could spring, 
Or the musical laughter of childhood could ring; 
Wherever a swallow could build 'neath the eaves, 
Or a squirrel could hide in his covert of leaves, 
I have felt the sweet presence, and heard the low call, 
Of the Spirit of Natuie, which quickens us all. 



THE SPIRIT OF NATURE. 

Grown weary and worn with the conflict of creeds, 
I had sought new belief for the soul with its needs, 
When the love of the Beautiful guided my feet 
Through a leafy arcade to a sylvan retreat, 
Where the oriole sung in the branches above. 
And the wild roses burned with their blushes of love, 
And the purple-fringed aster, and bright golden-rod, 
Like jewels of beauty adorned the green sod. 

O, how blessed to feel from the care-laden heart 
All the sorrows and woes that oppressed it, depart. 
And to lay the tired head, with its achings, to rest 
On the heart of all others that loves it the best; 
0, thus is it ever, when, wearied, we yearn 
To the bosom of Nature and Truth to return, 
And life blossoms forth into beauty anew, 
And we learn to repose in the Simple and True. 

No longer with self or with Nature at strife, 
The soul feels the presence of Infinite Life; 
And the voice of a child, or the hum of a bee — 
The somnolent roll of the deep-heaving sea — 
The mountains uprising in grandeur and might — 
The stars that look forth from the depths of the night — 
All speak in one language, persuasive and clear, 
To him who in spirit is waiting to hear. 

14 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

There is something in Nature beyond our control, 
That is tenderly winning the love of each soul; 
We shall linger no longer in darkness and doubt, 
When the Beauty within meets the Beauty without. 
Sweet Spirit of Nature ! wherever thou art, 
0, fold us like children, close, close to thy heart ; 
Till we learn that thy bosom is Truth's hallowed shrine. 
And the Soul of the Beautiful is — the Divine. 



(68) 

WClxat % once ;i;ix0urjM. 

I once thought that heaven was made for the few; 
That God was as vengeful as Moses the Jew; 
That millions were doomed at his bidding to dwell 
Within the dark bounds of a terrible hell 
Where hope never enters, but ring on the air 
The weepings and wailings of endless despair. 

1 once thought the Bible was God's holy Word ; 

That reason, opposing, should neve?- be heard: 

I made it my study, my every-day care; 

Its falsehoods were truth, and its curses were prayer; 

To doubt, was a crime, that could ne'er be forgiven, 

And faith was the lever that raised us to heaven. 



WHAT I ONCE THOUGHT. 

I once thought Jehovali Creator and Lord, 
And, bowed at his footstool, T feared and adored : 
The deeds that a devil might blush to commit 
Believed he had done, for the Lord thought it fit. 
The law of right-doing, I never dreamed then 
Applied unto gods, even ^nora than to men. 

I once thought that death was a monster accurst. 

Of evils the greatest, the last, and the worst; 

His maw, so insatiate, swallowed onr race. 

And left, of their beauty and glory, no trace; 

The grave was a shadow-land, cheered by no spring, 

Where, sat on his ice-throne, a skeleton king. 

I once thought that earth was a valley of tears, — 
A wilderness-world, full of sorrows and fears; 
That God's curse had blasted its beauty and grace. 
And poisoned the fairest and best of the race. 
I wept, as I thought of this horrible ban, 
And sorrowed that God should have made me a man. 
Pond fables of childhood ; my hope in you fled : 
Ye lie in the tomb, with the dust-covered dead. 

— Denton. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Though the day of my destiny 's over, 

And the star of my fate hath declined, 
Thy soft heart refused to discover 

The faults which so many could find; 
Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted 

It shrunk not to share it with me, 
And the love which my spirit hath painted 

It never hath found but in thee. 

Then when nature around me is smiling, 

The last smile which answers to mine, 
I do not believe it beguiling, 

Because it reminds me of thine; 
And when winds are at war with the ocean, 

As the breasts I believed in with me. 
If their billows excite an emotion, 

It is that they bear me from thee. 

Though the rock of my last hope is shivered, 
And its fragments are sunk in the wave. 

Though I feel that my soul is delivered 
To pain — it shall not be its slave. 



FIDELITY OF WOMAN, 

There is many a pang to pursue-me : 

They may crush, but they shall not contemn — 

They may torture, but shall not subdue me — 
'Tis of thee that 1 think — not of them. 

Though human, thou didst not deceive me, 

Though woman, thou didst not forsake. 
Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me, 

Though slandered, thou never couldst shake, — 
Tliough trusted, tliou didst not disclaim me. 

Though parted, it was not to fly, 
Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me, 

Nor mute, that the world might belie. 

Yet 1 blame not the world, nor despise it. 

Nor the war of the many with one — 
If my soul was not fitted to prize it, 

'Twas folly not sooner to shun: 
And if dearly that error hath cost me, 

And more than I once could foresee, 
I have found that whatever it lost me, 

It could not deprive me of tliee. 

Since the wreck of the past, which hath perished, 

Thus much I, at least, may recall, — 

It has taught me that which I most cherished. 

Deserved to be dearest of all: 
14* 



SEVEN DOZEN OEMS. 

In the desert a fountain is springing, 
In the wide waste there still is a tree 

And a bird in the solitude singing, 
Which speaks to ray spirit of thee. 



Byron . 



(70) 

Wherefore, 0, ye sons of sorrow ! 

Do ye idly sit and borrow 

Care and trouble for the morrow — 

Filling up your cup with woe ? 
Leave, 0, leave your visions dreary ! 
Hush your doleful miserere ! 

See the lilies how they grow — 

Bending down their heads so lowly, 
As though heaven were far too holy, 
Growing patiently and slowly 

To the end that Good designed. 
In their fragrance and their beauty, 
Filling up their sphere of duty — 

Each is perfect in its kind. 



PRESS ONWARD. 

Deeper than all sense of seeing, 
Lies the secret source of being, 
And the soul with truth agreeing, 

Learns to live in thoughts and deeds. 
For the life is more than raiment, 
And the earth is pledged for payment 

Unto man, for all his needs. 

Nature is your common mother, 
Every living man your brother ; 
Therefore love and serve each other ; 

Not to meet the law's behest, 
But because through cheerful giving 
You will learn the art of living ; 

And to love and serve is best. 

Life is more than what man fancies^ 
Not a game of idle chances, 
But it steadily advances 

Up the rugged steeps of time, 
Till man's complex web of trouble — 
Every sad hope's broken bubble. 

Hath a meaning most subUme. 

More of practice, less profession, 
More of firmness, less concession, 
More oi freedom, less oppression. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

In your Church and in your State ; 
More of ?^/e, and less oi fashion^ 
More of love^ and Jess of 2'xission — 

That will make you good and great. 

When true hearts, divinely gifted, 
From the chaff of Error sifted, 
On their crosses are uplifted, 

Shall your souls most clearly see 
That earth's greatest time of trial 
Calls for holy self-denial — 

Calls on men to do and he. 

But, forever and forever, 
Let it be your soul's endeavor, 
Love from hatred to dissever ; 

And in whatsoe'er ye do — 
Won by l^ruth's eternal beauty — 
To your highest sense of duty. 

Evermore be firm and true. 



Dot en. 



THE NEW CHURCH DOCTRINE. 
(71) 

gtte Itcixr arixttxclx icrctvxtxc. 

There's come a sing'lar doctrine, Sue, 

Into our church to-day; 
These cur'us words are what the new 

Young preacher had to say : 
That Uteral everlastm' fire 
Was mostly in our eye ; 
That sinners dead, if they desire, 

Can get another try ; 
He doubted if a warmer clime 

Than this world could be proved ; 
The little snip — I fear some time 
He'll get his doubts removed. 

I've watched my duty, straight an' true, 

An' tried to do it well ; 
Part of the time kept heaven in view, 

An' part steered clear o' hell; 
An' now half of this work is naught, 

If I must Hst to him, 
An' this 'ere devil I have fought 

Was only just a whim; 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Vain are the dangers 1 have braved, 

The sacrifice they cost; 
For what fun is it to be saved 

If no one else is lost ? 

Just think ! — Suppose, when once I view 

The heavens I've toiled to win, 
A lot of unsaved sinners, too, 

Comes walkin' grandly in ! 
An' acts to home, same as if they - 

Had read their titles clear, 
An' looks at me, as if to say, 

" We're glad to see you here ! " 
As if to say, '' While you have been 

So fast to toe the mark, 
We waited till it rained, an' Oien 

Got tickets for the ark ! " 

Yet there would be some in that crowd 

I'd rather like to see : 
My boy Jack — it must be allowed 

There was no worse than he ! 
I've always felt somewhat to blame, 

In several different ways, 
That he lay down on thorns o' shame 

To end his boyhood's days; 



THE NEW CHURCH DOCTRINE. 

An' I'd be wilJin' to endure, 
If that the Lord thought best, 

A minute's quite hot temperature, 
To clasp him to my breast. 

Old Captain Barnes was evil's son — 

With heterodoxy crammed; 
I used to think he'd be the one 

If any one was damned ; 
Still, when I saw a lot o' poor 

That he had clothed and fed, 
Cry desolately round his door 

As soon as he was dead. 
There came a thought I couldn't control, 

That in some neutral land, 
I'd like to meet that scorched-up soul 

An' shake it by the hand. 

Poor Jennie Willis, with a cry 

Of hopeless, sad distress, 
Sank sudden down, one night, to die, 

All in her ball-room dress; 
She had a precious little while 

To pack up an' away; 
She even left her sweet good smile — 

'Twas on the face next day ; 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Her soul went off unclothed by even 

One stitcli of saving grace; 
How could she hope to go to heaven, 

An' start from such a place ? 

But once, when I lay sick an' weak, 

She came an' begged to stay; 
She kissed my faded, wrinkled cheek — 

She soothed my pain away; 
She brought me sweet bouquets of flowers 

As fresh as her young heart — 
Through many long and tedious hours 

She played a human part ; 
An' ere I long will stand aroun' 

The singin' saints among, 
I'll try to take some water down, 

To cool poor Jennie's tongue. 

But tears can never quench my creed, 

Nor smooth God's righteous frown. 
Though all the preachers learn to read 

Their Bibles upside down. 
I hold mine right side up with care 

To shield my eyes from sin, 
An' coax the Lord, with daily prayer. 

To call poor wanderers in; 



CONSCIENCE AND FUTURE JUDGMENT. 

But if the sinners won't draw nigh, 

An' take salvation's plan, 
I'll have to stand an' see 'em try 

To dodge hell if they can. 

— Will Carldon. 



(72) 

Conscience and "gxxtnxe gittX^iucrxt. 

I sat alone with my conscience, 

In a place where time had ceased, 
And we talked of my former living 

In the land where the years increased, 
And I felt I should have to answer 

The question it put to me, 
And to face the answer and question 

Throughout all eternity. 
The ghosts of forgotten actions 

Came floating before my sight, 
And things that I thought were dead things 

Were alive with a terrible might, 
And the vision of all my past life 

Was an awful thing to face, — 
Alone with my conscience sitting 

In that solemnly silent place. 

15 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

And I thought of a far-away warning, 

Of a sorrow that was to be mine, 
In a land that then was the future, 

But now is tlie present time. 
And I thought of my former thinking 

Of the judgment-day to be; 
But sitting alone with my conscience 

Seemed judgment enough for me. 
And I wondered if there was a future 

To this land beyond the grave; 
But no one gave me an answer, 

And no one came to save. 
Then 1 felt that the future was present, 

And the present would never go by, — 
For it was but the thought of my past life 

Grown into eternity. 
Then I woke from my timely dreaming. 

And the vision passed away. 
And I knew the far-away warning 

Was a warning of yesterday, — 
And I pray that I may not forget it 

In this land before the grave, 
That 1 may not cry in the future, 

And no one come to save. 
And so I have learned a lesson. 

Which I ought to have known before, 



ONLY A DOG. 

And which, thoagli 1 learned it dreaming, 

I liope to forget no more. 
So I sit alone with my conscience, 

In the place where the years increase, 
And I try to remember the future 

In the land where time shall cease; 
And 1 know of the future judgment, 

How dreadful so e'er it be, 
That to sit alone with my conscience 

Will be judgment enough for me ! 



(73) 

0)txXij a l00. 

S. B. N. E. S. 



Only a dog." You wonder why 
I grieve so much to see him die. 

Ah ! if you knew 
How true a friend a dog can be, 
And what a friend he was to me 

When friends were few. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Only a dog — a beast," you sneer; 
Not worthy of a sigh or tear," 

Speak not to rae 
Such falsehood of my poor dumb friend 
While I have language to defend 

His memory. 

Through ups and downs, through thick and thin, 
My boon companion he has been 

For years and years. 
He journeyed with me miles and miles, 
I gave him frowns, I gave him smiles, 

And now, sad tears. 

Before my children came, his white 
Soft head was pillowed every night 

Upon my breast. 
So let him lie just one time more 
Upon my bosom as before, 

And take his rest. 

And when a tenderer love awoke, 
The first sweet word my baby spoke 

Was "M-a-t." Poor Mat ! 
Could I no other reason tell, 
My mother's heart would love you well, 

For only that. 



ONLY A DOG. 

Together boy and dog liave laid 
Upon my lap, together played 

Around my feet, 
Till laugh and bark together grew 
So much alike, I scarcely knew 

Which was most sweet. 

Ah! go away, and let me cry. 
For now you know the reason why 

I loved him so. 
Leave me alone to close his eyes, 
That looked so wistful and so wise, 

Trying to know. 

At garden-gate or open door 
You'll run to welcome me no more, 

Dear little friend. 
You were so kind, so good and true, 
I question, looking down at you, 

Is this the end ? 

Is there for you no "other side ?" 

No home beyond Death's chilly tide 

And heavy fog, 

Where meekness and fidelity 

Will meet reward, although you be 

Only a dog ? 
15* 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS 

' He has no soul." How know you that? 
What have we now that was not Mat, 

Save idle speech ? 
If from the Bible I can read 
Him soulless, then I own no creed 

The preachers preach. 

My dog had love, and hope, and joy, 
As much as had my baby boy — 

Intelligence ; 
Could smell, see, hear, and suffer pain, 
What makes a soul if these are vain? 

When I go hence 

'Tis my belief my dog will be 
Among the first to welcome me, 

Believing that, 
I keep his collar and his bell, 
And do not say to him farewell, 

But good-bye Mat, 

Dear faithful Mat. 

— Pearl Rivers. 



BUILDING UPON THE SAND. 

(74) 

gxtiXdinrj Wipou the Janxl. 

S. B. N. E. S. 

'Tis well to woo, 'tis well to wed, 

B'or so the world has done 
Since myrtles grew and roses blew, 

And morning brought the sun. 

But have a care, ye young and fair, 

Be sure ye pledge with truth ; 
Be certain that your love will wear 

Beyond the days of youth. 

For if ye give not heart to heart, 

As well as hand for hand, 
You'll find you've played the "unwise part," 

And " built upon the sand." 

'Tis well to save, 'tis well to have 

A goodly store of gold, 
And hold enough of sterling stuff, 

For charity is cold. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMB. 

But place not all your hopes and trust 

In what the deep mine brings; 
We cannot live on yellow dust, 

Unmixed with purer things. 

And he who piles up wealth alone 

Will often have to stand 
Beside his coffer-chest, and own 

'Tis ''built upon the sand." 

'Tis good to speak in kindly guise, 

And soothe whate'er we can; 
For speech should bind the human mind, 

And love link man to man. 

But stay not at the gentle words; 

Let deeds with language dwell; 
The one who pities starving birds 

Should scatter crumbs as well. 

The mercy that is warm and true 

Must lend a helping hand; 
For those who talk, yet fail to do, 

But "build upon the sand." 

— Eliza Cook. 



TOBY. 



( 75 ) 

BY FLORENCE PERCY. 

He was my fondest friend -and he is dead- 
Dead in the ripened fullness of his prime, 
Lost to my seeing for all coming time; 
Now, ere oblivion close above his head, 
Let me look back across our mingled years, 
And count if he was worth this heartache and these 
tears. 

Purer devotion, steadier truth than his, 

Not even the most exacting heart could crave; 
Demanding little, all he had he gave, 
Nor wronged his love by doubts and jealousies, 
But kept his constant faith unto the end, 
Kind, loyal, trusting, brave, a true ideal friend. 

He never joined the venial sordid race 
Of politicians mad with selfish greed; 
He never did. a vile, uncleanly deed 

To man or woman; envied no one's place, 

Nor wronged a mortal of a penny's worth. 

Should he not rank among the rare ones of the earth? 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Pie never sought the revels of tlie gay, 

Nor strayed wliere fatal follies spread their snare ; 

He loved the home-light, and the fireside chair. 
When daytime's crowding cares were shut away. 
And there, with all he loved in easy reach, 
I le talked with soft hroion eyes more eloquent than speech. 

Yet scores of wise men argue and declare 

That this, my friend, was but a pinch of dust; 
That his warm heart of constancy and trust 

Has gone out like a bubble in the air; 

That his true soul of love and watchful care 

Is quenched, extinct, and lost, and is not anywhere. 

"He had no soul," they say. What was his power 
Of love, remembrance, gratitude, and hope? 
Do these not triumph over time and death, 

And far outlast our lifetime's little hour? 

Affection, changeless though long cycles roll, 

Integrity and trusts do these not make the soul ? 

If these high attributes in sinful men 
Make up the sum of immortality, 
Outlive all life and time, and land and sea. 
Unfading, deathless — wherefore is it, then. 
They are contemned by church and synagogue, 
When they inspire and warm the bosom of a dog f 



THE CREED. 

If baser spirits last, can it be true 

That his dissolved to nothing when he died ? 
Wherever love lives, must not his abide ? 

Where hope dwells, shall his hope not enter too ? 

True hearts are few, and heaven is not so small. 

Oh ! fond and faithful friend, but it can hold them 
all! 

I have lost many a friend, but never one 
So patient, steadfast, and sincere as he, 
So unforgetful in his constancy; 

Ah, when at last my long day's work is done, 

Shall I not find him 'waiting an of yore^ 

Eager^ ex^Mctant, glad to meet me at the door ? 



(76) 

glxe meal, 

ELLA WHEELER. 

Whoevey- was begotten hy jjure love, 

And came desired and luelcome into life, 

Is of immaculate conception. He 

Whose heart is fall of tenderness and truth, 

Who loves mankind more than he loves Himself, 

And cannot find room in his heart for hate, 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

May be another Christ. We all may be 
The saviours of the luorld, if we beheve 
In the divinity which dwells in us 
And worship it, and nail our grosser selves, 
Our tempers, greeds, and our unworthy aims, 
Upon the cross. Who giveth love to all, 
Pays kindness for unkindness, smiles for frowns. 
And lends new courage to each fainting heart, 
And strengthens hope and scatters joy abroad, 
He, too, is a redeemer, son of God. 



(77) 

DOAR SHAW. 

' Twas a morning in June, and the roses, each one. 
Turned up its soft cheek for a kiss from the sun ; 
And the violet, wooed by the breeze that stole by, 
Purpled over with shame, while a tear in its eye 
Seemed its only reproof, and it bowed to the sod 
Asa worshiper bows at the name of his God — 
When a maiden, with fingers bejeweled with dew, 
Stooped to fasten the strings of her darling wee shoe. 
Oh, the maiden was lithe and the maiden was fair ; 
The laburnum was dim to the gold of her hair ; 



THE DARLING WEE SHOE. 

And the pale-faced lily, if it could but speak, 
Would say how it envied the rose of her cheek ; 
And the lark, 'mid his song, would fold up his brown 

wing, 
To list her glad voice with its mellow-toned ring ; 
And the fragile mimosa no tremor e'er knew 
At the fall of that foot in its darling wee shoe. 
Oh, that foot was so slender, that foot was so small ! 
Soft as voices of air was the sound of its fall, 
And, as it drew nearer, a strange nameless fear 
Then thrilled through my heart, till its throbs I could 

hear, 
And blushes, like lightning flashed up to my cheek, 
When this maiden so fair, ope'd her red lips to speak, 
And begged me to bind, what the breeze would undo, 
The ribbons which fastened that darling wee shoe. 
Of that task were enamored my fingers, I ween, 
For they linger full long o'er those fetters of sheen 
Which fluttered like birds but just caught in a snare, 
While more silent and calm grew the maiden so fair ; 
She smiled me her thanks, and turned from the spot 
With a look in her blue eyes I never forgot, 
For it seemed to say in a language too true : 
"Thou'st fettered thy heart in the strings of my 

shoe ! " 
Well, I loved and I wedded this maiden so fair ; 
16 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

But the cold dews of Death fell one night on her hair, 
And dimmed its bright gold ; and they fell on her 

cheek : 
Silent grew the dear hps that such fond words could 

speak. 
" My feet are aweary," it seemed as she'd say, 
"That have trod with thee, darling, life's tlowery 

way ; 
Oh, stoop thee again, and, 1 prithee, undo — 
My feet are aweary — the strings of my shoe." 
Oh, that foot was so slender, that foot was so cold ! 
Not the rose-tinted thing that had charmed me of old ; 
I bathed it with tears but 1 could not restore 
Its motion so bounding ; nay, its fleetness was o'er ; 
Nevermore would it meet me at morning, at night, 
Or wander 'mong flowers that loved it Hke light, 
For together stooped Death and myself to undo 
The ribbons that fastened that darling wee shoe. 
Calm she sleeps in the grave-yard, this maiden so fair, 
And her favorite flowers are blossoming there: 
There the sweet lady-slipper springs up in its pride, 
Pitting type of the wee one who lay by my side ! 
Did I say in the church-yard she sleeps? No, ah, no ! 
Por star-crowned in heaven she dwelleth, I know ; 
And light, silvery sandals, which Death cannot undo. 
She weareth in the place of that darling wee shoe. 



TWIN-BORN. PROGRESS. 

(78) 

lie who possesses virtue at its best, 
Or greatness in the true sense of the word, j 

Has one day started even with that herd 
Whose swift feet now speed, but at sin's behest* 
It is the same force in the human breast 
Which makes men gods or demons. If we gird 
Those strong emotions by which we are stirred 
With might of will and purpose, heights unguessed 
Shall draw for us ; or if we give them sway 
We can sink down and consort with the lost. 
All virtue is worth just the price it cost. 
Black sin is oft white truth, that missed its way, 
And wandered off in paths not understood. 
Twin-born 1 hold great evil and great good. 

— Ella Wheeler. 



(79) 

Let there be many windows to your soul, 
That all the glory of the universe 
May beautify it. Not the narrow pane 
Of one poor creed can catch the radiant rays 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

That shine from countless sources. Tear away 
The blinds of superstition ; let the light 
Pour through fair windows broad as 
Truth itself and high as God. 

Why should the spirit peer 
Through some priest-curtained orifice and grope 
Along dim corridors of doubt, when all 
The splendor from unfathomod seas of space 
Might bathe it with the golden waves of fjove ? 
Sweep up the debris of decaying faiths ; 
Sweep down the cobwebs of worn-out beliefs, 
And throw your soul wide open to the light 
Of reason and of Knowledge. Tune your ear 
To all the wordless music of the stars 
And to the voice of Nature, and your heart 
Shall turn to truth and goodness, as the plant turns 

to the sun. 
A thousand unseen hands 
Reach down to help you to their peace-crowned 

heights, 
And all the forces of the firmament 
Shall fortify your strength. Be not afraid 
To thrust aside half-truths and grasp the whole. 

— Ella Wheeler. 



THE VISION OF IMMORTALITY, 

[80] 

^Hxc liTislan of Sinmavtatttii. 

E. P. WESTON. 

I who essayed to sing in earlier days, 
The Thanafo2)sis and The Hiimn to Death, 
Wake now the Hymn to Immortality! 
Yet once again, oh ! man, come forth and view 
The haunts of nature; walk the waving fields, 
Enter the silent groves, or pierce again 
The depths of the untrodden wilderness. 
And she shall teach thee. Thou hast learned before 
One lesson — and her Hymn of Death hath fallen 
With melancholy sweetness on thine ear, 
Yet she shall tell thee with a myriad tongue 
That life is there — life in uncounted forms — 
Stealing in silence through the hidden roots. 
In every branch that swings — in the green leaves 
And waving grain, and the gay summer flowers 
That gladden the beholder. Listen now. 
And she shall teach thee that the dead have slept 
But to awaken in more glorious forms — 
And that the mystery of the seed's decay 
Is but the promise of the coming life. 
16* 



SEVEN DOZEN OEMS. 

They of immortal fame, and they whose praise 

Was never sounded in the ears of men, — 

All the vast concourse in the halls of death, — 

Shall waken from the dreams of silent years 

To hail the dawn of the immortal day. 

Aye, learn the lesson ! Though the worm shall bo 

Thy brother in the mystery of death, 

And all shall pass, humble and proud and gay 

Together, to earth's mighty charnel-house. 

Yet the immortal is thy heritage ! 

The grave shall gather thee: yet thou shalt come, 

Beggar or prince, not as thou wen test forth, 

In rags or purple, but arrayed as those 

Whose mortal pnt on immortality ! 

Then mourn not when thou markest the decay 

Of nature, and her solemn hymn of death 

Steals with a note of sadness to thy heart. 

That other voice, with its rejoicing tones, 

Breaks from the mould with every bursting flower, 

'' grave ! thy victory ! " And thou, oh, man ! 

Burdened with sorrow at the woes which crovvd 

Thy narrow heritage, lift up thy head 

In the strong hope of the undying life, 

And shout the Hymn to Immortality, 

The dear departed that have passed away 



THE VISION OF IMMORTALITY. 

To the still house of death, leaving thine own, 
The gray-haired sire that died in blessing thee, 
Mother, or sweet-lipped babe, or she who gave 
Thy home the light and bloom of Paradise, — 
They shall be thine again, when thou shalt pass 
At God's appointment, through the shadowy vale. 
To reach the sunlight of the Immortal Hills. 
And thou that gloriest to lie down with kings, 
Thine uncrowned head no lowlier than theirs, 
Seek thou the loftier glory to be known 
A king and priest to God ! — when thou shalt pass 
Forth from these silent halls to take thy place 
With patriarchs and prophets and the blest 
Gone up from every land to people heaven. 
So live, that when the mighty caravan, 
Which halts one night-time in the vale of Death, 
Shall strike its white tents for the morning march. 
Thou shalt mount onward to the Eternal Hills, 
Thy foot unwearied, and thy strength renewed 
Xjike the strong eagle's for the upward flight ! 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 
(SI) 

$0uc of IXatxirc. 

In man 1 love all that is noble and great; 

But war, and oppression, and falsehood I hate; 

And oft has my spirit hurst forth into song 

Against ev'ry species of riot and wrong. 

I'm a pleader for Freedom in every form, 

For my country I feel patriotic and warm ; 

Yet still I've no wish to disorder the land 

By the flame of the torch, or the flash of the brand. 

I 'm for movements more gentle, more certain, in sooth 

The movement of morals, the triumph of truth ; 

And my hopes are that men, who are toiling and 

grieving, 
May make this old earth like the Heaven they believe 

in. 
My religion is love; 'tis the best and the purest ! 
My temple the universe, — widest and surest ! 
I worship my God through his works, which are fair, 
And the joy of my thoughts is perpetual prayer ! 
I wake to new life with tlie coming of spring. 
When the lark is aloft with a fetterless wing. 
When the rainbow of April expands o'er the plain, 
And a blessing comes down in the drops of the rain. 



LOVE OF NATURE. 

When Summer, in fullness of beauty is born, 
I love to go forth at the first blush of morn. 
To pause in the field where the mower so blithe 
Keeps time with a song to the stroke of his scyth(\ 
In the calm reign of Autumn I'm happy to roam, 
When the peasant exults in a full harvest home ; 
When the boughs of the orchard with fruitage incline. 
And the clusters are ripe on the stem of the vine. 
Even Winter to me hath a thousand delights, 
With its short gloomy days, and its long starry nights ! 
And I long to go forth, ere the dawn, to inhale 
The health-givmg freshness that floats on the gale. 
When the Spirit of Nature has folded its wings 
To nourish the seeds of all glorious things, 
Till the herb, and the leaf, the fruit and the flower. 
Shall awake in the fullness of beauty and power ! 
There's a harvest of knowledge in all that T see, 
For a stone, or a leaf, is a treasure to me. 
There's the magic of music in every sound. 
And the soft arms of beauty encircle me round, 
Till the soft-swelling joy that I fancy and feel 
Is more than the language of song can reveal. 
Did God set His fountains of light in the skies. 
That man should look up with tears in his eyes ? 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Did God make tliis eartli so abundant and fair 
That man should look down with a groan of despair ? 
Away with so heartless, so joyless a creed, 
The soul that believes it, is darkened indeed — 

— J Crichley Prince. 



(82) 

Let him not boast who puts his armor on 

As he who puts it off, the battle done. 

Study yourselves; and most of all note well 

Wherein kind Nature meant you to excel, 

Not every blossom ripens into fruit; 

Minerva, the inventress of the flute, 

Flung it aside, when she her face surveyed, 

Distorted in a fountain as she played; 

The unlucky Marsyas found it, and his fate 

Was one to make the bravest hesitate. 

Write on your doors the saying wise and old, 

" Be bold ! be bold ! " and everywhere — " Be bold ; 

Be not too bold ! " Yet better the excess 

Than the defect; better the more than less; 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS. 

Better like Hector in the field to die, 

Than like a perfumed Paris turn and fly. 

. . . . Nothing is too late 

Till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate. 

Cato learned Greek at eighty; Sophocles 

Wrote his grand ^Edipus, and Sinionides 

Bore off the prize of verse from his compeerc 

When each had numbered more than fourscore 

years. 
And Theophrastus, at fourscore and ten, 
Had but begun his Characters of Men; 
Chaucer, at Woodstock with the nightingales, 
At sixty wrote the Canterbury Tales, 
Goethe at Weimar, toiling to the last, 
Completed Faust when eighty years were past. 
These are indeed exceptions; but they show 
How far the gulf-stream of our youth may flow 
Into the arctic regions of our lives, 
Where little else than life itself survives. 
As the barometer foretells the storm 
While still the skies are clear, the weather warm, 
So something in its. as old age draws near. 
Betrays the pressure of the atmosphere; 
The nimble mercury, ere we are aware, 
Descends the elastic ladder of the air; 
The telltale blood in artery and vein, 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Sinks from its higher levels in the brain; 
Whatever 2)oet, orator^ or sage 
M<ii/ saij of it, old age is still old aye. 
It is the waning, not the crescent morn, 
The dusk of evening, not the hlaze of noon; 
It is no-t strength, but weakness; not desire, 
But its surcease ; not the fierce heat of fire. 
The burning and consuming element, 
But that of ashes and of embers spent, 
In which some living sparks we still discern, 
Enough to warm, but not enough to burn. 
What then ? Shall we sit idly down and say 
The night hath come; it is no longer day? 
The night hath not yet come; we are not quite 
Cut off from labor by the failing light; 
Something remains for us to do or dare; 
Even the oldest tree some fruit may hear ; 
Not CEdipus Coloneus, or Greek ode, 
Or tales of pilgrims that one morning rode 
Out of the gateway of the Tabard Inn, 
But other something, would we but begin; 
For age is opportunity no less 
Than youth itself, though in another dress. 
And as the evening twilight fades away 
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day. 

— Longfellow. 



TTIANATOPSIS. 
(83) 

BRYANT. 

To him, who, in the love of Nature, holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 
Into his darker musings with a mild 
And gentle sympathy that steals away 
Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart, 
Go forth unto the open sky, and list 
To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 
Comes a still voice; Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, 
:Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
17 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 

Thy growth to be resolved to earth again, 

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 

Thine individual being, slialt thou go 

To mix forever with the elements; 

To be a brother to the insensible rock, 

And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain 

Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak 

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 

Yet not to thy eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, — nor couldst thou wish 
Couch moie magnificent. Thou slialt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world, — with kings. 
The powerful of the earth, — the wise, the good, 
Fair forms and hoary seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulcher. The hills. 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales. 
Stretching in pensive quietness between;. 
The venerable woods; rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks, 
That make the meadows green; and, poured round 

all, 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 



THANATOPSIS. 

Are shining on the sad abodes of death 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save his own dashings, — yet the dead are there. 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep; — the dead reign there alone. 
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men — 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles 
And beauty of its innocent age cut off — 
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

By those who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan that moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 



(H4) 

WM. H. IIOLCOMBE. 



Beneath the glory of a brighter sun 

Than that which keeps this moving globe of dust 

True to its orbit, and with vision fed 

By spiritual light and wisdom sent from God, 

I sought for death throughout the universe — 

If haply I might note the di^eaded being 

Who casts such awful shadows on our hearts. 

And seems to break, with his discordant step. 

The harmonies of nature. But in vain 



NEW THANATOPSIS. 

I scanned the range of substance infinite 

From God to Angels, and through men to earth, 

To beast, bird, serpent, and the ocean tribes, 

To worms and flowers, and the atomic forms 

Of crystalline Creations. Change had boon, 

Perpetual evolution and fresh life, 

And metamorphoses to higher states — 

An orderly progress, like the building up 

Of pyramids from earth's material base 

Into the fields of sunlight — but no death. 

With deep solemnity akin to fear, 

1 pondered o'er the elemental world. 

That seeming chaos, but its bosom held 

No embryonic forms but those of life; 

Nor did the spiritual origin of things 

Elude my recognition in the maze 

Of chemic transformations. Then I read 

The geologic leaves of stone sublime, 

Immortal look in an immortal tongue, 

Full of mysterious life. And then I looked 

Into the dark mausoleums of the past, 

And up the swift and shadowy stream of Time, 

Upon whose banks nations and men are said 

To have perished. And I turned the teeming soil 

Of all the battle-fields of every age. 

Peered into charnels, tracked the desolate paths 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

Of plague and famine, and surveyed with awe 
The secrets of the sea — but found no Death. 
To S2^iri(s, the veil of whose material temple 
Is rent in twain, and ivJio are capaUc 
Of purer thought and more interior life, 
His name and nature are alike unknown. 
Throughout the choral harmony of things, 
And all the vast economy of God, 
He has no place or power. There is no Death ! 
God, God alone, is Life; and all our life, 
And all the varying substance of the world, 
Prom Him derived, and vitalized by Him; 
And every change which ive ascribe to Death 
]s but a change in form or place or state, 
Of something which can never cease to live. 
Insensate matter is the base of all, 
The pedestal of life, the supple mould 
Through which the vital currents come and go. 
The universe, with its infinity. 
Is but the visible garment of our God ; 
The sun is l)ut the garment of our heavens ; 
The body is the garment of our soul. 
The coarse material out-birth of its life. 
Its medium for a time, a shell which keeps 
Within its curves the music of the sea — 



NEW THANATOPSIS. 

A wondrous thing ! which seems to live, but does not, 
For nothing hves but God, and all in Him. 
The Spirit is a substance, a pure form 
Of immaterial tissue, finely wrought 
Into the human shape, unseen in this 
Our physical existence, but the cause 
Of all its motions and its very life. 
When ripened for a more exalted sphere. 
The soul exuves its earthly envelope, 
And leaves the atoms of its chemic dross — 
(0 never, never more to be resumed) ! — 
For worms or weeds, or flowers to animate, 
While it withdraws to more august abodes, 
Happier beyond comparison, than those 
Who pass in joy from hovels all forlorn 
To palaces imperial, 
No7ie have died 
From earth's first revolution to the jjresent, 
But all are living who have ever lived. 
Earth has indeed no monuments of Death, 
But only vestiges of those who passed 
Through this inevitable vale of shadows, 
And left behind the prints of busy hands, 
That are still busier noiu, and songful echoes 
Of friendly voices that are singing still. 



SEVEN DOZEN GEMS. 

In gloom and darkness was the 'poet lost 

Who calls this earth the miglUij tomb of 7nan ; 
^ Tis but his teniporari/ hahitation.. 
His cradle and his school of discijdine — 
The dark, cold ground in which the seed is sown, 
That, struggling upward, slowlg germinates 

Until it hursts into the shining air. 
Not Christ alone has risen, but all have risen ; 
The stone is rolled from every sepulchre; 
The grave has nothing it can render hack. 
When we ascend to our eternal homes, 

We leave no living fragments of ourselves. 

We do not jjass from nature to the grave ; 
But nature is our grave, from which we rise 
At seeming death, — our real resurrection, — 
Into the Lvorld of spirits. And the tomb. 
With all its grief, and teiiderness, and shadow, 
Is the creation of our sluggish minds, 
By kindly memories and sweet suggestions, 
To cherish and prolong the love of friends. 
Gone, but not lost; unseen, but nearer still, 
In heauty and in glory, to our life. 
Which lives in God, immortal as himself. 



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